


until dusk falls

by yunsans



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Forbidden Romance, Horseback Riding, Horses, Indentured Servitude, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prince Choi San, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stableboy Jung Wooyoung, mentions of Arranged Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunsans/pseuds/yunsans
Summary: With a crippling fear of horses, Wooyoung's new position as the prince's stable boy feels like the cruelest joke in the universe, but maybe there's more to the crown prince than there seems.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 129
Kudos: 362





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> **3rd of july**

Wooyoung was absolutely terrified of horses. 

That’s why his new job at the palace as the prince’s new stable boy felt like a cruel joke, a punishment from the heavens for a crime he didn’t personally commit. Well, _job_ may have been too kind a word for his true position as glorified slave. _Servant_ , they called him, indefinitely shackled by the burden of his family’s sudden onslaught of debt—as far as he knew, at least. 

His hands trembled as he trekked back from the well, water buckets sloshing at his sides. His arms ached already—he was used to physical labor, of course, from helping his parents with virtually everything around the house growing up, but that was nothing compared to this. The sun beat down relentlessly, forcing beads of sweat to dribble down his forehead, washing his skin over with a golden glow that was sure to burn if he wasn’t careful.

He stumbled through the stable door, throwing the buckets to the ground. Water splashed up the sides, spilling a wave of water over his shoes. The water felt soothing on his sweat-soaked skin, but uncomfortable as it saturated his socks. 

He glanced up to the wall, a long list of daily chores bullet-pointed on the parchment. A calendar hung next to his worklist, marking the days of deliveries. Every other day, a cart of hay bales and Wooyoung’s daily rations was dropped off at dawn—loaves of bread mostly, sometimes accompanied by a few eggs which he could fry up at the small fireplace. They also delivered him a few jugs of ale, though he could also drink from the well, and a few sacks of rice and oats. 

He was allowed to eat with the other servants at the main dining house, if he wanted, but it was a decently long walk by foot, and by the end of the day he barely had even the energy to locate a stack of hay bales to collapse on top of. Plus, it may have been lonely in the stables, but he preferred the solitude to being forced to chat meaninglessly with the other servants as if we weren't indentured against his will to the palace for life. 

The prince’s stables occupied the northernmost edge of the property, decorated with sprawling pastures and a maze of trails that eventually led to the well, and a small river he could bathe in. It was insulting, really, how the prince’s horses seemed to occupy more land than his entire village, and they slept much better than him in their luxurious stalls. 

The stables themselves were quite pristine, though humbler than Wooyoung expected for a prince. He expected fixtures crafted from solid gold, or gold-spun tapestries hanging from the ceilings—anything to match the grandiose appearance of the King’s palace. The castle itself reeked of pompous aristocracy, but the stables felt more like an upper-class luxury than a tasteless display of wealth. Even so, chandeliers decorated the ceilings as if to mock him for being forced to sleep on hay bales despite how wealthy the royal family was.

Actually, that wasn’t quite true—they _had_ offered for him to sleep in the servants quarters, but like the dining hall, it was a long walk away, and the arduous walk to and from the stables wasn’t worth the upgrade from hay bale to rickety cot. 

The horses themselves were enormous—absolutely fucking frightening, actually. Wooyoung had seen horses before, grazing on the farms which peppered the land surrounding his village, but these horses were _nothing_ like those. They towered over him, colossal monsters that could shatter his feet with one mis-step. They were graceful beasts, but they swung their heads clumsily, and Wooyoung pictured how easily they could shatter his own skull with theirs. 

Objectively, Wooyoung would be fascinated by them, if they weren’t so fucking monstrous. They were exquisitely beautiful from a distance, with shiny, well-maintained coats, their manes carefully braided without so much as a hair out of place. 

There were six horses in the stable, though it was fitted for eight. Each of them, as had been explained to Wooyoung before he started, were the prince’s personal horses. Any one of these horses probably cost more than his family’s entire debt. He wondered why the prince didn’t house his horses with the rest of the king’s cavalry on the south end of the property. Wooyoung wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of the noble equestrian world, but these horses did seem different than the ones the royal family mounted during ceremonies.

He also wondered what happened to the prince’s last stable-hand. They probably resigned or were fired over something insignificant. After all, the royal family wasn’t exactly famous for their kindness. 

The minute Wooyoung caught his breath, he hoisted the water bucket over his shoulder, heading to the closest stall on the right side. It was occupied by a grand silver horse—a mare, he assumed—her coat dappled with flecks of ice-white. A golden nameplate indicated the horse’s name: Aurora. That would be pretty, if she weren’t looking at Wooyoung like she wanted to eat his face or something.

He unlatched the stable door with one hand, the other heaving the heavy water bucket into the stall. He removed the old one, then used the thick twine to tie it up to the front of the stall, doing his best to ignore the way his heart nearly drummed out of his chest in fear. Aurora was entirely uninterested in him, and yet he kept his eyes trained on her as if she’d strike at any moment. 

The minute he finished tying the knot on the twine, he dashed out of the stall, latching it behind him and collapsing to his knees on the stable floor. He leaned his back up against the wood, tossing his head back as he tried to catch his breath, reflecting on how traumatic that experience was.

The current tally—Horse, one. Wooyoung, zero.

Balmy summer heat left the air thick and suffocating around him, and he just wanted to go back home to his own bed, not surrounded by giant, hooved monsters. His first real day on the job, and he was already reduced to a trembling mess.

**4th of july**

He was wondering when the prince might show his face around the stables—these were his horses, after all, but he was sure he had better things to be doing. The immaculate way these horses were kept made Wooyoung think they may have just been for show, like a collection of sorts, for no reason other than the prince probably thought they looked pretty prancing around for him. 

_Someone_ obviously was riding these horses, though, judging by the lavishly adorned tack room that took up the rest of the stable’s square-footage. He was instructed during his brief training to stay out of that room at all costs, but he couldn’t help but take a peek out of curiosity. The far wall was lined with an array of saddles, crafted from rich mahogany leather, and the rest with bridles, sparkling with crystals, and a mishmash of other equestrian contraptions Wooyoung couldn’t identify.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if this was all for show too, though. The royal family was vain, materialistic, and entirely unconcerned with humility. The entire stable felt like an immaculate museum of wealth—a show, a collection, a glass display-case that wasn’t to be touched.

Wooyoung absolutely despised the royal family. Not just for forcing him into servitude, but on his principle values. 

And it wasn’t just him. The public detested their reign, not that it mattered—they had no say in the monarchy, of course. The King’s subjects were simply pawns in a cruel game of chess. The King was known, among other things, for his showy public executions for crimes barely worthy of a slap on the wrist, and for a wealth of corruption—rumored, at least, but rumors spread fast within the kingdom. Oh, and for his insatiable lust for needless war and violence. 

He hadn’t met the prince, but he was sure he wasn’t much better than his father. As far as he knew, he was the royal family’s only male heir, and therefore likely spoiled rotten, having had everything in his life delivered to him on a silver platter. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine a person he’d hate more. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t been around yet. 

It would probably be best if he never came around at all. 

**5th of july**

The crown prince: Choi San.

He’d startled Wooyoung half to death when he pushed open the large stable door, flooding the entire place with the blinding light of the beating sun. It was around noon, he assumed—he hadn’t seen a clock around the stables, so he could only really tell the passing of time by the position of the sun in the sky. Either way, Wooyoung supposed his peaceful solitude couldn’t last long. Nothing these days seemed to go the way he wanted, after all. 

He didn’t even spare Wooyoung a passing glance, to his relief. Wooyoung would do anything he could to avoid interacting with him, including obscuring himself behind a large stack of hay, pretending to sweep the floors while holding his breath so that the prince wouldn’t scold him for slacking off. 

Still, Wooyoung couldn’t help but peek around to take a look at him. He was the prince, after all. This was a rare opportunity to catch a sight of him up close—or at all, really. 

He stood at around Wooyoung’s height, and unmistakably lean beneath his clothes. Wooyoung could see his muscles clearly defined around his shoulders, caged in by the tight fabric of his fitted riding blouse. His clothing was pristine, bright-white breeches half-obscured by knee-length leather boots. A thin belt cinched in at his waist, which was startlingly thin for the rest of his body. His proportions were regal, for lack of a better word, making him appear much taller than he really was. 

He was positioned beside the grey mare, Aurora, stroking her neck as he threw the rope halter over her head. He tied the end to the metal bars that lined the stall before slipping inside the tack room, returning with a pad, saddle and bridle draped over his arms. Wooyoung watched in awe as he tacked up his horse—hastily, as if he was losing time—then dug his foot into the stirrup, hoisting himself on her back with a swift kick of his leg over the side. It almost looked impossible, how effortlessly he mounted such an enormous horse. 

Wooyoung let out a relieved sigh the minute the prince set off through the barn door, trotting towards the outdoor arena just down the hill. Wooyoung had quite a few chores left for the afternoon, and his stomach groaned in protest that he hadn’t stopped to eat yet, but he couldn’t help but sneak a peek around the doorframe to admire the prince from afar. 

He looked so graceful, bounding around the ring as if his horse was floating. Aurora pranced as if executing dance steps, and though Wooyoung didn’t quite understand what he was doing, something about it was fascinating. He had a hard time tearing his eyes away.

The prince saddled and rode three of the other horses before the sun began to set that evening. He must have been puttering around the stables for hours, and Wooyoung’s heart couldn’t help but freeze in his chest every time they were in close proximity, as if he were going to scold him out of nowhere for doing something wrong. 

Yet, the prince remained silent, straight-faced, and concentrated. Something about him was intimidating—sharp, cat-like features that cut like a knife straight through Wooyoung’s heart. And yet, there was something about him that was inexplicably gentle. Maybe it was the way he handled his horses so gently. Maybe it was the look in his eyes when his gaze fell over Wooyoung, warm but unreadable. It was only once, but Wooyoung’s heart dropped in his chest like he was about to be reprimanded. 

The prince only looked away.

He probably couldn’t be bothered to lay his eyes on a peasant like Wooyoung. 

**6th of july**

He returned the next day, making the same rounds between horses as the day before. 

Wooyoung did everything he could to stay out of his way, slipping out of the stables to tend to the pastures, or taking a few trips to the well to avoid any unnecessary confrontation. Even being within 50 feet of the prince felt like a crime in itself, and he kept his gaze trained anywhere else. Truthfully, he had a ton of questions, like how to chase the horses around in the pasture when they just didn’t want to be caught, or how to not cower in fear in their very presence.

The prince was the embodiment of prestige—graceful, dazzling, untouchable. 

In passing moments, he’d catch the prince’s gaze falling over him, making every muscle in his body freeze. He was probably looking at the way dirt smudged across his cheek, face slick with beads of sweat from working in the intense heat, strands of hair falling over his eyes and sticking to his forehead.

He was probably judging how unkempt he was, how much he looked like a filthy commoner contrasted against the wealth around him. He’d been supplied a uniform, but it did little to mitigate the inherent filthiness of the job. 

Wooyoung brushed back a loose strand of hair that fell over his eyes, uncomfortable beneath his piercing stare. He glanced up, and for a moment, he thought he saw a friendly smile twitch up on his lips. He was probably just imagining it, though.

**7th of july**

Wooyoung lounged back against the hay bale, twisting an apple in his hands. Sometimes he thought the horses ate better than him—he even snuck a few apples here and there, for himself. It was the least he deserved. 

He pushed his sleeves up to the elbows, basking in the scarce breeze that filtered through the stable windows, offering him little relief from the sweltering sun. It had been only a few days, and yet a golden tan began to form from how much he’d been working outside. Sweat glistened off his skin, and his hair was pulled back into a messy half-ponytail with a piece of twine he’d stolen from one of the hay bales. Strands escaped, falling over his eyes still, but it was much better than having his hair in the way while he worked all day. He took a bite of the apple, crisp and refreshing against his tongue. 

Wooyoung’s heart jolted in his chest as he heard the clomping of hooves just beyond the stable doors. The prince turned the corner, obscuring the light with his shadow. He held his horse by the reins in his right hand, and his gaze drew over Wooyoung carefully. 

He had just left for the arena. Why was he back so soon? Wooyoung didn’t want to look like he was slacking off, especially in front of _him,_ and that piercing gaze that stuck daggers through Wooyoung's still-beating heart. His eyes drew up and down Wooyoung’s frame, lingering just a bit too long to be comfortable, but he said nothing. 

**8th of july**

“Hey! Get away from there!” a voice barked in his direction, high and panicked. 

Wooyoung jolted upright, then backed away from the horse he was passing behind. Of course—he didn’t want a commoner anywhere near his precious horse. 

“S-sorry,” Wooyoung stuttered, keeping his eyes on the ground, out of the prince’s scrutinizing gaze.

“It’s fine,” the prince sighed. “You really shouldn’t be walking so closely to a horse’s backside. They could kick if you’re not careful.”

Wooyoung blinked, wide-eyed. He had expected to be ripped to shreds. “Oh. Right. Thanks. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“You know, most people around here would address me as ‘sir’. Especially a servant.”

Shit. He was so nervous about being reprimanded, he completely forgot. If he wasn’t going to be scolded before, he was definitely going to be now. 

He gave an apologetic bow. “Right. Sorry, sir.”

“No, it’s okay. I detest those honorifics, anyway. Just call me San.”

“Of course, Prince San.”

He puffed out a small chuckle. “Just ‘San’ is fine.”

**9th of july**

Wooyoung hadn’t seen the prince—San—at all. The past four days, he’d come and gone as if on a schedule—arriving around noon, when the sun was high, and departing just before the sun fell below the horizon. Wooyoung caught a brief glimpse of a horse-drawn carriage picking him up and dropping him off down the hill, by the arena. 

But today, there hadn’t been a peep. Just him and the horses, going through the motions of their daily routine. He didn’t expect to actually feel disappointed that San hadn’t come to ride today. Sneaking glimpses of him doing laps around the arena had become the most interesting part of his day.

He latched the large barn doors tightly, blocking out most of the remaining light. Dusk had already begun to fall beyond the small windows of the stable, marking the end of his workday. 

He lit a few of the oil lamps, then did a once-over on the stalls, making sure the horses had water and grains for the night. He could finally settle in to eat. His stomach groaned, and his throat felt thick and sticky from dehydration.

He took a seat on the stack of hay bales at the back of the stable where he slept, fisting a loaf of bread in one hand and an apple in the other. A tall jug of ale sat at his side. This was undoubtedly the best part of his day. He took a ravenous bite of the loaf, then jolted upwards when he heard the barn door creak open. 

He scrambled upright. Who could be coming in here after dark, anyway?

San?

Wooyoung watched as the prince headed straight for the stalls on the right-hand side, stopping first at Aurora’s. 

He unlatched the stall door, then glanced over at Wooyoung. “You’re still here.”

The prince had never spoken directly to him like this, not unless Wooyoung was counting the time he’d yelled at him for walking behind one of the horses. 

“Oh. Yeah. I sleep here, actually.”

“Hm,” San hummed, pressing his lips together in thought. “Well, don’t mind me, I suppose. I’m just here to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye…?”

San nodded. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you? Starting tomorrow morning, well… I’m no longer a free man.” He breathed out a soft laugh. “Not that I was ever really free to begin with.”

It was strange—the _prince_ of his kingdom just striking up a conversation with him like it was nothing. Wooyoung only blinked, unable to think of a response. 

“I guess you don’t really want to hear about my troubles though, do you? What troubles does a prince really have anyway, in the face of his own stablehand.”

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung said, in between stuffing oversized mouthfuls of bread in his mouth. “I don’t mind.”

San sighed, gently petting his hand across Aurora’s silver coat. She nuzzled up against his hand. “I’m set to be wed by this time next year—the spring solstice, to be exact. I don’t even know the woman. I’m sure she’s nice, but… I never asked for this. I’ll be so busy, I’ll only be able to ride once a week, now. They’re not even letting me come down here anymore otherwise.”

“To be wed?” 

“To a princess from the neighboring kingdom. My father thinks if he can ally himself with their rule, he’ll finally have the power to militarize fully like he’s been wanting to. I’m not sure, really. When my father speaks of war, I tend to tune him out,” San sighed. His gaze was trained on his horse while he spoke, but his eyes flickered towards Wooyoung sympathetically. “Sorry to dump this all on you... you’re just trying to eat, aren't you? Anyway, I only came down here to say goodbye to my horses. My father would kill me if he knew I came without an escort, though.”

“Then how did you—?”

He flashed a warm grin, and charming dimples creased in his cheeks. “I snuck out. Stole a horse from my father’s cavalry.” Wooyoung’s mouth gaped open, and San's eyes crinkled into crescents with amusement. “I tied him up out front. He’d probably cause a ruckus if I brought him in. My father doesn’t train his horses as well as I do.”

“Rebellious,” Wooyoung teased. 

“Thanks. My father keeps such a tight grip on me, like he thinks I’m gonna run away or something. And with a father like him…”

“I would probably run away too,” Wooyoung cut in without thinking. He winced at his own carelessness—that was probably way out of line. “Sorry, I just mean—”

San broke into a laugh, and Wooyoung breathed out a sigh of relief. “You’re right. He’s insufferable.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and Wooyoung took a chug of his ale, just to fill the space. 

San spoke again after a beat. “It’s been really hard for me to watch this stable being tended to by someone else, you know.”

“I’m sure your last stable boy was a lot more skilled than me.”

“Well, actually, the last stable boy was _me_.”

Wooyoung nearly choked on his ale. " _You?_ "

"My whole life, actually. I'd sooner die than let someone else care for my horses." Wooyoung's eyes grew wider, feeling like he'd somehow done something wrong by being forced into this job. "It was always something I wasn't willing to budge on. Thats why I have my own stables, too. But, well, my father sort of forced my hand in hiring you. I can't exactly argue with him on this marriage, and since I'm going to be so busy preparing for it, I won't have time to ride, let alone do all the stable chores. I'm sure you've already realized how much work that is by now."

"Yeah. I'm exhausted." 

"Do you like horses, at least?"

"They terrify me."

San let out a roaring laugh, then turned back to Wooyoung, who wasn't laughing in the slightest.

"You're—you're serious, then?"

Wooyoung ripped at the crust of the loaf with his teeth, tearing off a piece. "Unfortunately." 

"My horses are sweethearts." San stroked Aurora, lingering his fingers along her mane. He looked at her with stars in his eyes, sparkling in the dim glow of the oil lamps. “Aurora, for instance. She wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Your _sweetheart_ nearly charged me in the pasture yesterday." 

"She's just playing. She's still quite young," he explained, then let his eyes flare mischievously in Wooyoung's direction. "Or maybe she smells your fear." 

"The latter, I think," Wooyoung grumbled.

"You'll grow to love them."

"I'm not sure about that."

"I could show you sometime, if you wish,” San offered. He fished something from his pocket—a strawberry, maybe—and held it up to Aurora’s lips. “Catching them in the pasture, for instance. There's always a trick. Aurora, she likes treats. Once you butter her up, she doesn’t even need to be haltered. She’ll follow you like a lost puppy.”

Wooyoung shook his head in protest. “Oh, no, no. I couldn’t possibly—”

“I’m offering. Really. It might offer me some peace of mind if I train you myself, actually. If you want something right, you have to do it yourself, I suppose. Frankly, I’ve been so nervous all week.”

Wooyoung raised his eyebrows. “Tell me about it.”

San smiled, warm and inviting. “You’re funny. I like you. Most people around here are too afraid to just talk to me like a normal person.”

_Maybe because you’re not a normal person._

“To be honest, you’re nothing like I expected you to be,” Wooyoung said instead. 

“Hopefully that’s a good thing…” He paused, tilting his head slightly to the right. “What’s your name?”

“Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung.”

“Hopefully that’s a good thing, Wooyoung.”


	2. ii

**16th of july**

  
  
  


“Well you’re not gonna catch her like that.”

Wooyoung nearly jumped a foot from his boots. His head whipped around his shoulder, watching as San sauntered towards him with the kind of smooth, gliding gait one could only see from royalty. He walked with the same regality his horses did, as if it were a dance, as if he were merely floating across the ground instead of sinking into the soft pasture soil. It had been a week since he’d seen him last, just as San had said—he'd only be able to come see his horses once per week.

“You’re going to muddy your boots, Prince,” Wooyoung teased, flashing a smile. 

San shrugged, one corner of his lips twitching upwards to reveal a charming dimple, the smallest flash of teeth shining through. “What else do I employ you for if not to clean them for me?” 

“Certainly not catching your horses,” Wooyoung said with a defeated sigh. A halter hung limply from his palm, mocking his plight. 

“Is it always like this?”

“What?”

“Catching them? I’ve been watching you run around in circles for the past ten minutes. Surely it’s not always this much of a struggle.”

“You underestimate my ineptitude, Prince.”

“San,” he corrected. 

“Right. San.” 

“Big words for a stablehand,” San noted, and it was almost insulting if not for the genuine surprise painting his expression, pinched eyebrows and the small tilt of his head. 

“Do you suppose all your servants to be poor and uneducated?”

“I suppose I hadn't considered it.”

“It’s no surprise your subjects see the royal palace to be so disconnected from the kingdom,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, though San made out enough for his lips to curl into a slight frown. 

San brushed it off with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, quickly changing the subject. “If you want to catch her, you’ll have to stay still.”

“Seems counterintuitive.” Wooyoung glanced at San again, cocking his own sly smirk. “I know, another big word for such a poor stablehand.”

He watched San’s face carefully as he pressed his lips together, suppressing an amused smile. “You chase her, she’s going to keep running away. You have to trick her into thinking she’s catching _you,_ not the other way around.”

“Her name is Treasure, right?”

“Right. She’s one of the oldest I own, actually. I’ve had her since I was quite young. She’s always been this way. Headstrong, stubborn. Set in her ways.” San stepped forward, slipping the halter from Wooyoung’s hands. “She’s beautiful though, isn’t she?”

“Extremely,” Wooyoung hummed, letting his eyes travel across the pasture to the large beast. She was warm, reddish brown color with a lustrous, shiny coat that tapered off to a deep blackish-brown just before her hooves. Her mane and tail were similarly dark, almost black, and a thin white stripe drew like a lightning bolt down her face. Her legs traveled far up her frame, making up most of her oversized stature, tall and terrifyingly grand. 

San nodded, a warm smile curling up on his lips as he watched her prance boldly towards them. His eyes sparkled with admiration, as if watching an infant take its first steps. “She’s a Hanoverian. Pure blood, of course. A cherry bay, one of my favorite colors, if I had to choose.” 

Wooyoung knew what absolutely none of those words meant, but he nodded with feigned interest. 

“She’s probably been giving you the most trouble of the mares, hasn’t she?”

Wooyoung nodded. “Ever since you taught me to bring Aurora treats, she practically walks _herself_ back to the stables.”

San broke into a laugh, unrestrained and effortlessly contagious, eyes crinkling into endearing crescents. “I told you, she’s a sweetheart. Once you understand her, it’s almost like having another human around, really. She’s so smart and expressive, isn’t she? Astounds me, sometimes.”

Wooyoung didn’t respond, but couldn’t help but admire the way San talked about his horses with so much veneration. 

“And Lulu is an easy catch, so I’m sure you’ve had no trouble with her,” San finished, just as Treasure trotted to their spot in the pasture. San glanced in her direction, reaching out to stroke her neck as she bowed towards him. “And see, she comes as long as you don’t chase.”

San ran his palm down her nose, then handed the halter back to Wooyoung. Unlike Aurora’s, Treasure's halter was crafted from soft leather and accented with gold clasps. “On second thought, I’ll let you halter her. Learn by doing, hm?”

  
  
  


**23rd of july**

  
  
  


Wooyoung sat on a large rock by the river’s edge, using his hands to steady himself on the slick surface. His toes kissed the surface of the gently bubbling stream, refreshingly cool against his burning hot skin. A river ran along the palace grounds, marking the north border of the property, and Wooyoung often spent his breaks on hotter days like this cooling off in the river. It was actually more like a stream where it met with San’s horse trails, shallow and calm—deep enough that he could wade in it comfortably, but not so deep he worried about drowning, or being swept away by a heavy whitewater current. 

The sun beat down relentlessly, threatening to flush Wooyoung's skin a deep, painful red. Sweat beaded down his forehead, trickling down his face. His hair was tied out of his face the best he could manage, but several strands escaped and plastered against his neck. He cuffed his working trousers up as far as possible, allowing the water to cool his legs, but opted to remove his shirt entirely, the material of his uniform uncomfortably damp with collected sweat.

He leaned down, cupping a handful of water in his palms, and brought it up to splash on his face. He squeezed his eyes tight, a contented sigh escaping at the cool relief that dribbled down his cheeks, water dripping from his chin onto his chest. 

“Slacking off?” 

Wooyoung glanced up, palming at his face to wipe the water from around his eyes. San sat atop Aurora, her magnificent dappled silver coat almost radiant as it reflected the beams of sunlight that washed through the trees. Wooyoung had only seen San ride along his trails once before, as he usually opted for the arena instead, but the sweltering conditions were far too oppressive not to seek shelter beneath the forest’s shade. 

He looked resplendent, almost ethereal, a dazzling prince mounted on his steed like something from a fairy tale. The beginnings of sweat glistened on his golden tanned skin, smooth and clean as he’d expect a prince to be. He wore a short-sleeved polo shirt, and Wooyoung noted this was the first time he’d seen San’s arms, which were usually sheathed beneath a long-sleeved riding blouse. They were remarkably well-defined, lean muscle cascading down to his forearms, not unlike Wooyoung. 

“It’s outrageous to allow your servants to work in these conditions,” Wooyoung grumbled, though his complaint was punctuated with a jesting smile. 

“You seem to forget I had your job not too long ago. I worked many summers in the heat.”

“And then your servants escorted you home to your cushy palace.”

San went silent for a moment. “I… suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“As for me, I have a date with a hay bale tonight, and a loaf of bread with my name on it.”

He reached down to stroke at Aurora’s mane, then sat up tall in his saddle, digging his heels into the stirrups and shifting his weight slightly. His eyes wandered across Wooyoung’s chest for a bit too long to be comfortable, an indecipherable expression blanketing his features. Suddenly, Wooyoung was acutely aware of his half-naked body, realization dawning over him at how he must look, exposing himself so shamelessly to the crown prince of his kingdom. Before he could scramble for his shirt, San averted his gaze, clearing his throat after a moment.

“Well, carry on. It’s scorching today, after all,” San readjusted his hands on the reins, prompting Aurora forward into a walk with an almost imperceptible nudge of his heel. “Make sure the horses get extra fresh water today. Go to the well three times, if you have to.”

“Right, of course, sir,” Wooyoung said, an honorific slipping out accidentally in his embarrassment.

San pressed his lips together, hazarding one last glance back at Wooyoung before cuing Aurora into a trot. “San.”

“Of course, San.”

**30th of july**

  
  


“A strawberry?”

San held a large strawberry in his palm, slightly mushy from its journey from the palace through the sweltering summer heat, but still juicy, glistening an appetizing red. Wooyoung had half a mind to take it for himself. 

“You’re going to feed Aurora.”

“Wha—no. No.” Wooyoung shook his head violently in protest, taking a few cautious steps backwards. 

“I watch you in the pasture sometimes, you know. Aurora may not be picky enough to refuse treats from the ground, but she’d like you even more if you fed them to her yourself. The others, too.”

“San, I can’t.”

“I know you can. She won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Wooyoung’s hands were already shaking, trembling uncontrollably at his sides. It was enough that he had to be near them, and catching them in the fields gave Wooyoung enough anxiety to have his knees almost buckling beneath him every time he slipped through the pasture gates. He glanced up, meeting San’s eyes, which harbored a comforting shimmer—one that, for a moment, nearly convinced him he might not get his hand bitten off. 

But as he glanced back at Aurora, her beastly skull swaying Wooyoung further into dismay, he couldn’t help but feel nauseous. 

“Here,” San said quietly, cupping Wooyoung’s hand face up in his own. He placed the strawberry in the middle of Wooyoung’s palm, sticky and seeping a small puddle of pink liquid into the creases of his skin. He raised their hands together, guiding Wooyoung towards her. She immediately perked up, tossing her head excitedly, then leaned down to press her soft lips against Wooyoung’s palm. 

Wooyoung squirmed as her lips wiggled against him, gently taking the strawberry and pulling her head away. He let out a sigh of relief the second she grew disinterested, instead enjoying the sweet treat. 

“See?” San whispered after a moment, pulling his gaze up to Wooyoung. “Not so bad, was it?”

Wooyoung felt like he might have broken out into tears, an uncomfortable sting gathering just beneath his eyes. He swallowed, nodding. “I didn’t die.”

San smiled, eyes crinkling, sending warmth traveling through Wooyoung’s body that he couldn’t describe—comfort, maybe—alleviating some of his restless unease. 

Wooyoung suddenly became aware of his hand, which was still cupped in San’s, trembling lightly. He tugged it away, embarrassed, and his cheeks grew hot. 

“You didn’t die,” San repeated, widening his smile, and for a moment, Wooyoung forgot why he was shaking. 

  
  
  


**6th of august**  
  
  
  


Wooyoung couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed that San hadn’t talked to him all day. He supposed he’d gotten too comfortable with his presence, though he only came around once a week, he should have known better than to view talking to the prince as any more than a privilege. Wooyoung kept his head down, carrying out his chores just as silently and reclusively as he did any other day, though he couldn’t help but sneak glances at him every time he entered the stables to saddle up another horse before slipping back out towards the arena. 

  
  
  


**13th of august**

  
  


“I brought you something.”

Wooyoung glanced up to San standing before him, standing up straight, arms hidden behind his back. A subtle smile twitched up on his lips, but he forced it down, pressing his lips until they were straight, serious, as if he was trying to conceal excitement. His smooth skin glistened with a sunkissed glow from the warm light that filtered through the stable’s windows.

Wooyoung hadn’t had much opportunity to talk to him yet, as he’d spend most of the time between his barn chores cooling off in the river or taking extra trips to the well. The heat was nearly unbearable, but it was already cooling off as the sun began its journey down the horizon, and the stiflingly balmy air of the stables at least provided well-needed shade. 

“It better not be another strawberry,” Wooyoung jested. “I don’t know if I can take that again.”

“Better,” San said, unable to contain his smile.

Wooyoung cocked his head to the side, resting the large fork he used to clean the horse’s bedding on the side of the stall. 

San slowly brought his arms to the front, opening his palm to reveal a small pastry in a mini pie tin, a golden crust lining the edges and a dollop of fruit jam in the middle.

“A… pastry?”

“A fruit tart,” San corrected, letting his smile form fully on his face, exposing his dimples.

“I.. can have it?”

“Of course. I brought it for you.” 

San nudged his hand in the air, prompting for Wooyoung to take it from his palm. He obeyed, reaching for it apprehensively. He twisted it in his palm, mouth watering so much he had to suck the drool back from pooling at the corners of his lips. It looked exquisite, shiny and glazed, almost as if it was inedible. He’d never had something like this—he may not have been dirt-poor, but he couldn’t afford this kind of food. This was elite in every sense of the word. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Wooyoung asked after a moment, and he could hear his own trepidation wavering in his voice.

“I had to sneak it out, but you’re my personal servant, after all. Technically, you follow my orders,” San said seriously. “And I order you to eat it. You’re done with your chores today, right?”

“Just finished the last stall. I was going to check the water before I—”

“You can be done for tonight,” San cut in. “Why don’t you sit and eat?” 

Wooyoung glanced around nervously, stupidly, as if someone else would be there to catch him slacking off. 

“Is that another order?” Wooyoung said finally. 

“Yes. And if you disobey, I won’t be happy,” San scrunched his face into a playful frown. 

“Well, who am I to disobey His Highness?”

“Exactly. So sit. Eat."

Wooyoung brushed off his clothes, collapsing against the hay bale. He wasn’t sure what he expected San to do, but it wasn’t to sit next to him. He shuffled his butt back on the hay bale until all his feet were off the floor, crossing his legs neatly in front of him. 

Wooyoung kept his eyes trained forward as he silently tore off a small piece of the tart’s crust, setting it on his tongue, letting the buttery golden dough dissolve on his tongue, flaky and crisp. A sighed moan slipped past his lips, unable to restrain the bliss at tasting something so divine. He cleared his throat, straightening up as abashed heat nipped at his cheeks. 

“You know, I kind of wish I didn’t have to go back,” San said at his side, cutting through Wooyoung’s embarrassment. 

“There’s an extra hay bale, you know,” Wooyoung joked. 

San released a sigh. “You’re surely jesting, but I’m serious. I wish I never had to go back to that stupid palace. If I could stay out here all night, I would. I’d sleep in a stall if they let me. But my father has his guards escort me to and from. I’m not allowed to stay past dusk. And if I’m not down at the arena, they’ll come looking for me. Now that the fate of our kingdom’s relations rests in the hands of my marriage, he’s kept me on an even tighter leash.”

“Well, the suns only just setting. We have a bit until dusk, right?”

“Thank goodness, too. Here I can forget, for a few hours at least, about my impending marriage.”

“The girl… the princess. Do you like her?”

“She’s nice, I suppose. But I feel… I feel nothing for her. Maybe that’s just how it is. It’s an arranged marriage, after all. My father expects me to spend a lot of time with her, but I’d rather be here.”

Wooyoung nodded, unsure of what to say, taking another small bite of the pastry, doing everything he could to savor the sweet filling as it dissolved over his tongue. 

“I thought it’d be like a fairy tale, I guess.”

 _A fairy tale._ Wooyoung remembered thinking something about fairy tales recently. 

“What do you mean?” 

San leaned backwards, letting his back fall against the bale, hair splaying out around him like a messy crown around his head. “Love. I thought it’d be like a fairy tale. A prince and a princess, set to wed. Perhaps my expectations were too high.”

“Or perhaps you can’t force yourself to love someone you don’t even know.”

“My father insists it’ll come with time. We’ve started taking dancing lessons together, preparing for the ball. I thought I might feel something when I held her, when I danced with her, but I don’t.”

A warm carnation glow washed over the interior of the stable, marking the sun dipping beneath the horizon outside. Wooyoung took a bite of his tart. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I agree with your father. It’s only been a bit over a month, right? Five weeks. You have to give yourself time.”

“I’m impressed. You’ve been counting.”

“I’m a bit ashamed to say your visits are the only interesting part of my week.”

“Mine, too,” San said, and Wooyoung glanced down at him enough to see the smile that danced up on his lips. His skin glowed warm in the filtered rays of waning sunlight, and he looked exquisitely royal—yet somehow, extraordinarily normal, sprawled out across two hay bales, hands tucked behind his head to prop it up slightly off the scratchy surface. 

They went silent for a while, the stable filled with the sound of shuffling of hooves against the stalls, birds chirping distantly as they settled in the rafters. Wooyoung focused on the tart, slowly disappearing in the tin. He frowned as he took his final bite of golden crust, picking at the crumbs absently as San shuffled at his side. The stable’s light dimmed as the orange sunset began to fade, transitioning into the soft glow of twilight.

“Shouldn’t you be going down soon?”

“Probably,” San sighed. “They’ll be coming any minute.”

“It’s almost dusk.”

“I know. I’d rather stay and talk with you, though.” 

It went quiet again, and Wooyoung tossed another glance over his shoulder. San’s eyes were closed, the rise and fall of his chest noticeable beneath the fabric of his riding shirt. 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Wooyoung said quietly. 

“Just one more minute.” 

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. So how about you tell me all about how your dancing is going next week? Maybe you can even show me a few of your moves. I’d love supper and a show.”

San’s eyes cracked open slightly, and he sputtered out a laugh. “Mark it on the calendar.”

He knew it was a simple joke, but part of him considered the possibility of taking it seriously. “It’s a date, then?”

San sat up finally with a swift kick of his legs out in front him. He carded a hand through his unkempt hair, messed from falling back on the hay bale. A strand of hay stuck out from beneath the strands, and Wooyoung reached forward to pluck it from his hair.

San let out a contagious giggle, his smile so much like sunshine he was practically his own source of light in the dim stable. "I'll be counting down the days."


	3. iii

**20th of august**

  
  
  


Twilight was quite possibly the biggest horse Wooyoung had ever seen, or maybe that ever existed, and Wooyoung was convinced he absolutely hated him—they could smell his fear, after all. Wooyoung’s hands trembled as he grasped the halter, sweat beading on his fingers and dripping from his palms, and not just from the overwhelming heat. 

He must have been trying to wrangle the beast for nearly thirty minutes, and he was nearly at his breaking point when Twilight reared his enormous skull into the air with a deep trill of protest. Wooyoung stumbled backwards, heels slipping out from beneath him.

A warm, soft force halted his downward momentum, and he froze in place as he tried to process the two warm arms that held him, keeping him from toppling into the grass.

San breathed out the beginning of a chuckle. “Whoa there. Watch your footing.”

Wooyoung jolted upright, scrambling away from San’s body, eyes wide, heart thumping so violently against his chest he thought he might faint. “H-how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to realize I couldn’t watch you struggle anymore,” San chuckled.

Wooyoung brushed his palms against his trousers, shifting his weight in his boots as he fumbled with the halter. “You know, it’s a bit unnerving that you watch me.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, then. It’s still strange for me to watch someone else tend to my horses.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this job if I weren’t forced,” Wooyoung grumbled, gritting his teeth. Pent up frustration festered inside him, and all he could think about was chucking the halter across the pasture and heading inside. He could already feel his skin burning beneath the relentless sun, and Twilight was glaring at him with murderous intent. “Your goddamn horse is throwing a temper tantrum again.”

San tilted his head slightly, giving Wooyoung a slow glance up and down. “He senses your anxiety.”

“I know, I know. They can smell fear.”

“He’s big, but he won’t hurt you, you know. Not on purpose, at least. He’s graceful under saddle, but a bit clumsy in the pasture. A gentle giant, really.”

“I highly doubt that.”

San slipped past Wooyoung to Twilight’s side, placing his hand on his neck. Twilight was enormous compared to San’s lean frame, San being not much taller than Wooyoung, but slightly more trim, his tiny waist cinched in with his riding belt above his breeches. 

His horse, in contrast, was built with thick muscle—a massive monster with a lustrous black coat and a wavy mane that cascaded down his neck, spilling out over his face. His long tail erupted in thick waves behind him, and wisps of hair cupped over his colossal hooves, which looked like they could shatter Wooyoung’s foot with one faulty step.

“Come here,” San ordered, patting lightly at Twilight’s mane, who seemed to relax simply by being in San’s presence. San had that effect, Wooyoung supposed. 

“He hates me…” Wooyoung protested, and he watched San’s eyes fall to his trembling hands, which struggled to keep the halter from falling to the soil below.

“Do you trust me, Wooyoung?”

San’s gaze drifted back up, locking on Wooyoung’s face with a serious expression. Wooyoung only nodded slowly, apprehensively, heat growing in his cheeks at the sound of his name coming from the prince’s mouth. 

“Okay, then come here.”

He took a few suspicious steps forward, watching Twilight intently as he drew closer. Twilight’s ears twitched, just barely turning back against his head, and Wooyoung flinched as San’s hand gently curled around his wrist. 

“S-see. I told you, he hates me…”

San guided him up to Twilight’s neck, hand still placed gently over Wooyoung’s wrist. San cupped his own hand over Wooyoung’s the minute his palm flattened against Twilight’s shiny coat, directing Wooyoung’s hand to pet gentle strokes along his neck.

“He’s just apprehensive. He feeds off your energy—he’s a good boy, but he takes a bit longer to trust, and your nerves aren’t helping. Honestly, I’m surprised you were ever able to catch him to begin with.”

“I haven’t. Usually he’ll follow Sunrise into the stables, but he’s been a nightmare the past three days.”

San chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me. I noticed a few nips on Twilight’s right hind last week. I suspected they might have had a quarrel. They’re like that sometimes—should straighten out within a week. But you can't always rely on him to follow Sunrise out. What if he had run off?"

Wooyoung dropped his gaze, feeling as though he was being reprimanded. "Sorry…"

"It's fine. I'm not too worried about any of my horses running off. I train them well, after all. My point is that you need a bit of faith in yourself. If you want my horses to trust you, you have to trust yourself first."

Wooyoung glanced back at Twilight, whose murderous stare abated as his eyelids drifted half-shut, relaxing beneath the touch. San’s hand was warm, soothing against Wooyoung’s as it guided his hand in slow strokes—or perhaps it was the devastating summer heat.

He lifted it away carefully after a few moments, leaving Wooyoung to pet Twilight’s midnight-black coat on his own, soft like rich velvet on his fingertips.

“See?” San whispered, taking slow a step away. “Trust.”

  
  
  


**27th of august**

  
  
  


By the time Wooyoung got back from cooling off in the river, San was already gone. He saw him arrive in the early morning, just before Wooyoung had turned the horses into their pastures, whisking Aurora off to the arena before Wooyoung even had a chance to greet him.

He had left early before—Wooyoung didn’t know exactly why, but he assumed it had to do with the King ordering him back on important royal business. It was almost comical—he worked for the palace, and yet somehow knew even less about the royal family than before. He was completely disconnected from the rest of the kingdom, utterly isolated in his stable prison.

A glimmer of silver caught Wooyoung’s eye as he crossed the stable, and he took a few steps forward, eyes widening as his gaze fell over the small present placed delicately in the middle of a hay bale: a fruit tart, golden and shiny around the edges of the small metal tin, garnished with a strawberry. 

  
  
  


**3rd of september  
  
  
  
**

“You’re coming up on a break, right?”

“Hm?”

Wooyoung ascended the gradual slope up from the mare’s pasture with Aurora in tow, following without a halter just behind him. Of all San's horses, Wooyoung liked Aurora the most, if only for the fact that he hardly needed to touch her—she led herself around the property as if she owned the place herself, accepting Wooyoung's treats with happy shakes of her head.

San stood at the top of the hill, just in front of the wide stable doors. Wooyoung could tell something was out of the ordinary by the way he stood with his hands laced behind his back, swaying slightly on the heels of his tall riding boots, pushing down that eager smile Wooyoung knew all too well.

“You usually take a break once you’re done bringing the horses in. She’s your last, isn’t she?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

“Good, because you’re going riding with me today, on the trails. There’s a nice breeze today. Plus, I thought it might be fun. It gets awfully lonely out there. I’d like some company.”

Wooyoung froze in his tracks, and Aurora halted beside him, dipping her head submissively. His eyes went wide, heartbeat thrumming against his chest. “No… no. No, I can’t.”

“Come on. Trust, remember?”

“No, San…”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” San reassured, and Wooyoung couldn’t say his inviting smile wasn’t the smallest bit convincing.

“I still have so much left to do tod—”

San’s friendly grin twitched up on one side, growing into a smirk. “Or… I could tell my father you’re disobeying my orders.”

Wooyoung gritted his teeth. “That’s not fair.”

“An order is an order, stable boy,” San said with feigned sternness, eyebrows knitting together. Wooyoung trembled visibly, body betraying him with an uncontrollable panic, and San’s expression softened, dropping his act. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be on Treasure.”

“Treasure? God no, she’s huge…”

“And old. An infant could ride her. You couldn’t get her to buck or rear even if you smacked her with a crop.” Aurora tossed her head at Wooyoung’s side as if to complain about being stopped for so long. “Here, I’ll take Aurora from you. Treasure’s already saddled. Grab something to eat if you need it before we head out.”

It was clear San wasn’t taking his _no_ for an answer. Wooyoung exhaled a sigh, knees wobbly beneath him as walked forward with Aurora. She stopped by San, who led her through the stable’s door. Wooyoung followed, heading towards his belongings near the hay bales by the back wall. He took a swig of unpleasantly warm water from his canteen and ripped off a decent portion of his load of bread, scarfing it down as if it were the last food he’d ever eat—and it almost felt like it, as if he were facing death just at the prospect of having to get on a horse’s back.

“Alright, come here.”

Wooyoung looked up, gaze falling over San, who stood next to Treasure with a playful grin. She was tall to begin with, towering above both Wooyoung and San with ease, but now she looked enormous as Wooyoung considered he might actually have to mount her. “San…”

“You’ll be okay. You trust me, right?”

“Y-yes,” Wooyoung stuttered, unconvincingly. 

He stepped forward, closing the distance between him and San, who guided him onto the mounting block, a small wooden crate that creaked beneath his feet as he stepped up. His body shook violently, trembling so hard he could barely feel his own legs. An uncomfortable sting rose in his cheeks, threatening to spill tears over as he faced Treasure. 

San handed him the reins, which he received with shaking hands, sweaty palms barely able to grasp around the thin leather. 

“San, I can’t…” Wooyoung insisted, voice breaking slightly as tears welled in the whites of his eyes. He turned his head over his shoulder, enough to study San’s expression, eyebrows pinched together sympathetically, pressing his lips in a concerned frown.

“Okay, okay. I see you’re not quite ready for that yet.” 

San extended his hand, indicating for Wooyoung to take San’s hand in his as he stepped down from the crate. His knees buckled beneath him as his heels graced the solid ground again.

“How about this…” San started, leading Treasure back into her stall, beginning to remove her saddle. “You get on Aurora with me. The saddle should fit two of us, if we squeeze together.”

“San…”

“We won’t go anywhere. Not today, at least. I just want to show you that nothing bad will happen, okay?”

“O-okay."

“You can hold on as tightly as you need.”

Wooyoung nodded weakly, attempting to steady his shallow breaths while San finished untacking Treasure in her stall, then set the saddle and pads atop the small saddle rack that was attached to the stall doors. 

Aurora was waiting patiently near her stall, tethered with a small rope attached to her bridle, but truthfully, Wooyoung knew she would have stood still without it. It was probably just to make Wooyoung feel better. San hopped on first, positioning the mounting block beneath his own feet, though Wooyoung knew San didn’t need a mounting block—he’d seen San hop on her back before, even bareback, with a swift kick of his leg over the side and a tight grip on her mane. 

San extended his hand as Wooyoung climbed on the rickety wooden crate. Aurora was much smaller than Treasure, though still grand, an enormous beast that could crush Wooyoung with little effort. He pressed his palm down on San’s, squeezing tightly as he mustered up the courage to swing a leg over, falling into the saddle clumsily. 

His hips pressed against San as he sat, slipping down in the slope of the saddle and squishing up against San’s lower back. His chest felt heavy, breaths running shallow as he shifted his weight nervously in the saddle. 

“I didn’t die…” Wooyoung whispered, mostly to himself.

“You didn’t die,” San repeated. 

San’s arms reached behind him, fumbling blindly until they found Wooyoung’s forearms, guiding them around his waist. Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his throat as he settled his arms around San, squeezing instinctively in fright as Aurora shifted her hooves underneath them

San had touched Wooyoung many times, helping him halter, guiding his hands to stroke the horse’s manes, but Wooyoung had never reached out and touched San before. It felt like a crime, as if San were an untouchable work of art, a piece of fine porcelain. 

San leaned forward to unclip Aurora's rope, then gave a small nudge against Aurora’s sides with his heels, prompting her to step forward. 

Wooyoung gasped, fisting his hands in the fabric of San’s riding shirt. “Y-you said we wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“I didn’t promise,” San said, and Wooyoung could practically hear that mischievous grin. “We’re just going to take a small lap around the stable, okay? Hold on tight.”

Wooyoung squeezed tighter, pressing his chest up against San’s back, hanging on for dear life as San prompted Aurora into a slow walk. Visceral fear coursed through his body, keeping his heart thrumming against his chest, but as he held San in a firm embrace, it seemed to fade just slightly. 

The sun kissed his skin as they exited through the large stable doors, his anxiety quickly eclipsed by a fuzzy warmth bathing his limbs. He wasn’t sure if it was the sunlight washing over him to calm his senses, or the warmth of San’s back making him want to press his cheek to the crook of his neck and fall asleep. The gentle padding of Aurora’s hooves on the soil rocked his hips back and forth in slow, rhythmic motions, and he could almost understand why someone might enjoy this feeling.

By the time they made a circle around the stable, Wooyoung found himself wishing he didn’t have to get off.

“One more,” he suggested softly. 

“One more?” San repeated, the shock in his voice ringing out almost as clearly as the bubbling excitement. 

Wooyoung nodded, chin brushing against San’s neck, still hanging on as if the second they disconnected, Wooyoung might fall to his death. “Mhm.”

  
  
  


**10th of september**

  
  
  


Wooyoung’s hair was getting quite long. 

It was long to begin with, rich black strands falling over his eyes, brushing low against the back of his neck, plastering uncomfortably against his skin in the summertime like mortar. He kept it tied back with twine, though only about half of it stayed up at any given time. Twine, as it turned out, did not make for a very good hair tie—or, perhaps, Wooyoung was just unskilled at tying it to begin with. He found himself swiping his hair from his face several times an hour, which grew to be incredibly inconvenient when he was rushing to complete his chores before sundown. 

He twisted the twine in his hands before pulling the string taut, slipping it behind his head. He fumbled to gather a thick fistful with one hand while still holding the string steady, but the slippery strands fell through his fingers as he twisted the twine around them, leaving him with a uselessly small bundle of hairs. 

He gathered the hair back up, cursing beneath his breath as strands slipped out of his careful ponytail. 

“Here,” San said quietly from behind him, not even giving him a chance to turn around before his hand reached around Wooyoung’s body, seizing the piece of twine from between Wooyoung’s fingers. He felt San’s shoulder brush against his back. “Stay still.”

“What are you—”

“Putting your hair up for you.”

Wooyoung’s body went stiff as San’s fingers combed through his hair, disentangling the stiff, sweat-damp strands. It was almost soothing, and Wooyoung felt the urge to lean into it, letting San’s fingers massage his scalp. San pulled Wooyoung's hair back tightly against his head, slicking it back with his hands before looping the twine around it several times, securing it into a ponytail at the back of his head.

“Okay, you can turn around.”

Wooyoung obeyed, twisting on his heels. San surveyed his face, twisting his neck around to take a look at his handiwork. Wooyoung felt San’s thorough gaze on him like a flame against his skin, a flush pooling on his cheeks at the thought of the prince looking at him so carefully. 

A soft smile crept up on San’s face after a moment of scrutinization, eyes crinkling into subtle crescents. “Perfect. That’s much better.”

  
  


**17th of september**

  
  


“You never showed me your dance, you know,” Wooyoung teased, tearing off a bite of bread with his teeth. The wood-fired crust crunched beneath his teeth, thick and chewy, resisting as he ripped it from the loaf.

San sat at his side, taking small sips of lukewarm water from Wooyoung’s canteen. The balmy summer heat was finally dying out, replaced by a cool autumn breeze. Sun still kissed down over the pastures, not quite the dull shade of grey that fell over the kingdom in the later months.

“It’s not polished enough yet.”

Wooyoung exhaled half a chuckle. “The crown prince, unpolished? I highly doubt that.”

“It’s been quite hard to focus during my lessons, honestly. It’s been stressful.”

“Why’s that?”

“I know you said to give it time, but the Princess… it just doesn’t feel right dancing with her, I suppose. There’s no connection. My mind tends to wander, and I lose my footing.” San paused. “Can you dance?”

“I’ve never tried. And certainly not ballroom.”

“Well you’d surely be a better partner than the Princess. There’s nothing wrong with her, but it’s like dancing with a scarecrow. She’s quite stiff. A nice girl, but a bit dull. I should know, when you grow up with royalty, you tend to lose a sense of personality in all the austerity. Worst of all, I can tell she likes me. I feel the way she touches me, I see it in her eyes... but I can’t say I feel the same.”

“Complaining about dancing with a Princess. Such are the problems of the elite, aren’t they?”

San laughed, reaching across Wooyoung’s body towards the jug of ale. Wooyoung’s eyes widened, but he didn’t protest. San took a swig, exhaling with a satisfied sigh. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“She must be pretty, surely?”

“Pretty? Hm, yes, I suppose. Though I have to say, her looks have nothing on yours.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat, a hot blush rising in his cheeks. He wanted to glance over at San, study his expression, parse the meaning of what he’d just said, but he could only stare forward, shoving down the heat that rose through his body. 

San let out a laugh, and Wooyoung followed with his own forced chuckle. It was a fleeting comment, nothing more than a joke, but he couldn’t explain the way his hairs stood on end, teasing flattery dusting his cheeks red. 

“My hair _has_ been growing quite long,” Wooyoung jested back, ignoring his heart skipping beats in his chest. “In a few months, I may be able to pass for a princess myself.”

“Either way, I’m sure you’d be a better dance partner. Perhaps I could teach you a few steps sometime.”

“Teach _me_?”

San nodded. “Mm. The extra practice might help me.”

“Are you saying I’d have to take the girl’s part?” 

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t help me to learn both. Besides, I think we just established you’re pretty enough to pull it off.”

Wooyoung glanced over at San’s face, illuminated only dimly as twilight fell beyond the stable’s windows, waiting for him to erupt into a laugh. Instead, he was greeted by a warm expression, collected, earnest, and most importantly, not an ounce of jest hidden beneath the surface. Their eyes met for just a moment, but Wooyoung pulled his gaze away first. 

“It’s almost dusk,” Wooyoung uttered finally. 

“They can come looking for me, if they want.”

“San—”

“I know,” San sighed, taking one more swig of Wooyoung’s lukewarm ale, barely grimacing at the unsavory bitterness. “Just a few more minutes.”


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a small content warning for this chapter; themes of malnutrition/weight loss. this is not a major theme of the story just this chapter!

**24th of september**

  
  
  


Wooyoung’s delivery cart arrived just before the crack of dawn, overflowing with an abundance of hay and grain for the horses. He was running out of last week’s rations, and the small basket on the cart, usually filled to the brim with a fresh delivery of bread and grains, was suspiciously understocked—one small bag of rice and a few eggs being the only spoils, a barely survivable amount of food for his laborious position. Even the horse’s apples were dwindling, leaving him with very few options. 

He’d starve to death on these portions.

“Excuse me,” Wooyoung called to the delivery cart’s coachman before he could pull away. “I think there may have been a mistake with my rations… there’s hardly anything here.”

“You and the entire kingdom, kid. This is all we can give you.”

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re in a famine. Last I heard, our main trade route pulled out of the King’s trade deal last month. Don’t know much more than that.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “No… that’s… how am I supposed to survive off of this?” he muttered, a mixture of disbelief and panic creeping up in his tone. 

He wasn’t exactly talking to the driver, but he answered anyway. “Look, we’re all starving. The past few weeks you’ve been getting more than half the kingdom, but we were ordered to cut the servant’s portions this week. It’s going to get a lot worse than this, kid. I’d be thankful for what you got this week.”

The coachman cracked the whip, prompting his horses into a collected trot, and Wooyoung’s heart sank in his chest as the cart pulled away. It disappeared beyond the sprawling fields, the early morning twilight just barely fading over the horizon as the sunrise brought out its bright golden glow over the grass. It was beautiful, but Wooyoung could hardly feel anything beyond despair.

If what the coachman had said was true, if the King had truly caused the dissolution of their main trade route, Wooyoung would absolutely starve to death before the winter’s end. 

Summers were decent for harvests in their kingdom, but the winters, though not too frosty, brought arid conditions with little rain to keep the crops alive. They relied heavily on trade, especially in the later months, but the King was notorious for his poor relations with the other kingdoms, which was one of the reasons San’s marriage was so important—aside from needless militarization.

Wooyoung brought his meager rations inside, thumping the small bag of rice down next to the small fireplace and setting the basket of eggs on top of the stack of hay bales. Somehow, this paltry portion would have to last him all week, though he wasn’t hopeful that he’d get any more on next week’s cart, either. 

Wooyoung collapsed on the hay bale, thankful that at least he would get to see San when he came around. He was always able to lift his spirits, after all.

San never showed up. 

  
  
  


**1st of october**

  
  
  


“What is that?”

A small gold ribbon, lined with two thin stripes of royal emerald green, rested in the palm of San’s hand, draping over the edges. “Turn around.”

“Wh—”

San placed his hands on Wooyoung’s shoulders, swiveling him around with a gentle nudge before he had a chance to question it. Wooyoung could feel San’s fingers pinch his makeshift twine hair-tie in his fingers, tugging it until the strands spilled out around Wooyoung’s face, then combed his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair again like he had before, creating a tight ponytail behind his head. He wrapped the ribbon around, tying it in what felt like a small bow as it cinched his hair together tightly. 

“Look at me,” San said, taking a step back as Wooyoung turned back towards him. 

A proud smile curled up on his lips as he admired Wooyoung’s hair, stepping around to check it from all sides. His gaze lingered a bit too long, drawing carefully across Wooyoung’s face. His eyes fell over his lips for a moment, and Wooyoung felt his cheeks grow hot under his stare, an indecipherable emotion sparkling in his eyes. 

Wooyoung dropped his own gaze, training his unfocused eyes on the floor. He swayed slightly on his heels, vision going fuzzy at the edges from a full week of hardly eating, but he could feel San still watching him.

“It suits you,” he decided, finally.

“T-thanks,” Wooyoung stuttered, feeling the deep flush that dusted his cheeks. 

“I had it made for you. Custom. I told them it was for tying off Lulu’s tail braid, but it looks so much more ravishing on you.”

_Ravishing._

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat in his chest—it skipped two, it skipped five. 

He glanced up, enough to see San’s face grow in a subtle flush, looking away. For a moment, he looked almost shy as he averted his gaze. 

  
  
  


**8th of october**

  
  
  


Rainfall may have been coveted in the kingdom in the autumn months, but it was Wooyoung’s worst nightmare in the stables. It rained overnight, the pasture soil dissolving into a sticky muck, swallowing his shoes as he trudged through the mud.

San arrived just after sunrise, immediately slipping into the stables to offer help with some of the stable chores until the mud dried off in the arena. Wooyoung was hesitant, but San insisted, as he tended to, and who was Wooyoung to argue with the prince, after all?

 ****“I was going to take a trip to the well,” Wooyoung shrugged. “If you wanted to accompany me, you could bring two of the buckets yourself so I don’t have to take an extra trip.”

San nodded in agreement, grabbing two of the old buckets, one from Lulu’s stall and the other from Aurora's. Wooyoung grabbed Treasure’s and Twilight's. He'd still have to take another trip for the other two geldings, but it was better than taking three. 

The walk down to the well was usually quite mild, a trail along the hill that housed the mare’s pastures, snaking around towards the forest’s edge. The well was down a ways, but only a short walk from the edge of the pasture fences—a walk Wooyoung made more times than he could count. 

San followed behind him as they descended the slope. “You know, I was going to bring you another pastr— _ah_ —”

Wooyoung heard a thump, and glanced over his shoulder, breaking into a guffawing laugh as he took in the sight of San, collapsed in the mud, thick brown sludge splattered across his white riding breeches and up his arms, a jarred expression painting his face. 

“Ah, you really should watch your footing, your Highness,” Wooyoung teased, unable to contain the laughter that spilled from him as the prince admired the damage, thick mud dirtying his pristine visage. 

“We don’t get rain often. I’m not used to traversing these hills in the mud," San grumbled, the ground squelching beneath him with a foul noise as he shifted. Wooyoung looked down at him with unconcealed amusement, and San rolled his eyes with a huff. “You could at least help me up.”

“Yes, my liege,” he mocked, a playful grin pulled across his face as he extended his hand.

San grasped it, and Woouyoung shifted his weight back on his heels, waiting for San to hoist himself upwards, but San tugged towards himself instead, sending Wooyoung topping down next to him, nearly missing him as he fell. 

Wooyoung gasped on impact, knees sinking into the deep sludge, and he would have been mad if not for the contagious giggle that erupted from San’s mouth, so genuine it was hard not to follow suit. 

“I almost fell right on top of you, you know,” Wooyoung chuckled.

“It was a risk I was willing to take.”

“Well, now we’re both dirty. I have a change of clothes back at the stables, but we should wash up first.”

Wooyoung pulled himself to his feet, and San followed, mud plastered all the way down his backside. They followed the path down to the well together, which branched off to the river a little over halfway down, setting their water buckets down at the trail’s fork. The river wasn’t as refreshing in the crisp fall air—it was quite cold, in fact, but Wooyoung didn’t have much of a choice for washing up, so he still bathed there at least twice a week, enough to keep him from reeking of manure and general barn stench. 

San fumbled with the buttons of his riding blouse, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but let his gaze travel over his chest, smooth and immaculately sculpted, as the shirt slipped down his shoulders and off his frame. His stomach was well-defined with muscle, but soft at the same time, and Wooyoung felt the urge to run his hand down it, feeling the definition. Even in the dreary autumn months, San’s complexion remained a rich, creamy tan, as if kissed by the non-existent sun. His skin was pristine beneath his mud-marred blouse, not a smudge of dirt on the surface. 

San glanced up at Wooyoung, who averted his eyes the moment San caught him staring. He couldn’t help it—the elites were on a whole other level. Or, at least, San was.

“Ah, don’t tell me you're shy? I’ve seen you cleaning up plenty of times,” San teased.

Wooyoung pushed down the blush that threatened to climb up to his cheeks. “It’s chilly, that’s all.”

Wooyoung grasped the hem of his polo nervously. He’d have to take it off unless he wanted to soak the fabric while he cleaned his exposed arms of the dried mud. He slipped it over his frame slowly, realizing San would likely see how thin he was getting. He still held enough muscle on his bones to look healthy, but there was no doubt he was much more fragile than before. 

San said nothing about his thin figure, though it was painfully clear he was beginning to succumb to malnourishment, his remaining muscles clinging on his frame for dear life. Instead, San returned Wooyoung’s stare with one of his own, and Wooyoung could practically feel San’s gaze as it drew up and down his chest, and indecipherable look in his eyes and the smallest hint of a smile curling up on the corners of his lips. 

San looked away after a moment, knelt at the river’s edge, splashing water against arms to rub away the dried mud. Wooyoung followed his lead, kneeling down beside him to palm at his own forearms. Wooyoung watched San out of his peripheral, unable to tear his eyes away from his profile, the gentle slope of his nose and his soft, plush lips, not unlike a work of art. He was entranced, as if laying eyes on a beautiful woman.

But San wasn’t a woman—he was a man, a prince. A prince set to be wed in a matter of months. 

So then what was the fuzzy feeling he had in his core, the sloshing in his stomach, the tightness in his chest, the warmth that bloomed in his cheeks?

A cold splash of water against his neck startled him back to reality, and he jolted back slightly as a giggle rolled through San’s body, letting out the cutest squeak as he splashed another handful of water at Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung leaned over to cup water in his own palms, throwing the small pool onto San’s chest, watching as it dripped down the creases, returning San’s fit of laughter with some of his own. 

The elated smile that drew across San’s face could only be described as sunshine, and Wooyoung found himself wishing he could lean in, wishing he could…

No. He couldn’t. He was committing a sin by even allowing the thought to cross his mind.

Perhaps he was going crazy, coming unhinged under the grips of starvation, but he almost thought he saw San’s eyes flicker down towards his lips, too. 

  
  
  


**15th of october**

  
  
  


Wooyoung couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything except rice. He typically saved most of his food for the days San came around, so he wouldn’t worry him. Before meeting San, he might have thought the Prince was just as much to blame for the food shortage as the King. Truthfully, he couldn’t have been more wrong about him from the beginning. 

San probably already knew he was starving—all the King’s servants were. It was no use complaining to San, who had enough to to worry about without his own stablehand moaning to him about a problem he couldn’t solve. Wooyoung was a peasant, after all, one of the King’s subjects—a servant, a slave to the palace. He didn’t deserve San’s pity. In fact, he didn’t deserve San at all.

The delivery cart arrived late, around noon, and San was busy puttering around the stables, polishing some of his saddles in the tack room. The cart overflowed with hay bales, and a meager portion of rice in a small sack. He stared the hay bales down with concern pinched between his eyebrows, an exhausted sigh escaping through his lips as he considered how he was supposed to lift them into the wheelbarrow. 

Four weeks ago, this task would have been effortless—he was working class, fit, filled out with a healthy amount of muscle, but his meager portions were not much better than if he were fasting. He managed a small cup of rice each day, and an apple stolen from the horse’s stash, if he was lucky. Even the horse’s apples were being delivered less and less each week.

He grasped his fingers around the twine with an exasperated sigh, exhaustion wracking his limbs despite the early afternoon hour. If he could just lift the hay bales into the wheelbarrow, he could at least wheel them into the stable instead of carrying them, as he usually would. 

He hoisted the bale up, stumbling backwards as the weight threw him off his balance. A hand braced against his back as he struggled to regained his balance, palm pressing down on his spine. Wooyoung could feel the protruding bumps of his own spine as San ran his hand down the small of his back, helping Wooyoung steady himself. Wooyoung let the twine slip out from his fingers, tossing the hay bale down to the ground so he could breath.

“T-thanks… how is it that you're always right behind me when I fall?” Wooyoung joked with a nervous chuckle, ignoring the ache of his bones. “And don’t tell me you were watching me, again.”

“I was.”

He turned to face San, searching for his playful smile, but San’s expression was neutral. 

“Need some help with that?” San cut in, before Wooyoung could muster a response.

“O-oh. No. I've got it.”

“Are you sure?” San asked, the subtle tilt of his head accompanied by his eyebrows threading together just slightly.

Wooyoung mustered a smile. “Yeah. I won’t trouble you. I must just be a bit tired today.”

  
  


**22nd of october**

  
  
  


The water buckets were getting heavier, and Wooyoung was getting weaker. He was wasting away beneath his uniform, pallid skin dappled with shades of yellow and amethyst, bruises that refused to heal, sometimes forming from nothing at all. His fragile knees rubbed uncomfortably against each other as he slept, and his wrists felt as though they would snap as he trudged back from the well. 

The barn was up the slope from the well and the pastures, but he felt as though he walked uphill both ways, body aching from the moment he woke up to the second he went to bed on his uncomfortable hay bale, which only grew more uncomfortable the more weight he shed. The nights were getting colder, as was his body, which trembled all night with shivers that wracked down his spine, chilling his thin frame. He was exhausted all day, but sleeping was a nightmare, and he usually woke up so often it was almost like he wasn’t sleeping at all. 

His breaths were shallow, vision fuzzy at the edges as he steadied his heels in the ground in front of the water bucket, struggling to keep his balance. Nausea built in his chest, a floaty haze enveloping his body, but if he could just lift the water bucket into Treasure’s stall— 

He caught a glimpse of San slipping through the stall door as he grasped both hands on the bucket’s metal handle, tugging upwards. His vision flickered in and out of darkness, limbs weak and shaky beneath him, fingers going numb as he lost control of his body entirely. 

He just barely heard his name being called from across the stable as his knees gave out, sending him toppling to the floor. There was a crash as the water bucket connected with the ground, splashing a heavy wave of water across the floor as Wooyoung’s vision went black.

  
  


—

  
  


Wooyoung’s eyes cracked open slowly, adjusting to the softly filtered light washing through the small stable windows. He was lifted off the ground, one arm cupped underneath him, another placed on his back, holding him as if he were a newly-wed bride, a damsel from a fairy tale. 

The Prince.

San.

San’s eyebrows furrowed together with a somber look of unease Wooyoung had never seen from his before—austere, deadly serious. Wooyoung blinked upwards as San’s face came into focus.

“What happened?” San whispered, lying him down gently against his hay bale bed. 

“I’m just… I’m just… tired,” Wooyoung lied. His voice came out quiet, dazed.

“You’re light as a feather…” San took a seat next to him, the top of Wooyoung’s head just barely grazing against the side of San’s thigh. He felt San’s warm palm press against his forehead, brushing the hair away from his eyes, his lips thinning into a concerned frown. “You don’t have a fever, but you’re freezing cold. You’ve grown thin, Wooyoung. I didn’t say anything at first because I didn’t want to pry, but… have you not been eating?”

“I eat all they give me.”

“What do you mean?”

“A small bag of rice for the week, sometimes a few eggs, if I’m lucky.”

“For… how long?”

Wooyoung’s voice was weak as he spoke, as if fighting off sleep. His eyelids grew heavy, and his limbs, chilled and shivering, suddenly registered the ache from slamming into the ground. “A month, give or take… I think.”

“Shit,” San hissed under his breath. That was the first time he’d ever heard San curse, and it almost didn’t suit him.

“You… didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“About… the famine.”

San’s eyes widened, lips parting as if the shock had unlatched his jaw. He didn’t speak for a moment, visibly taking in the weight of Wooyoung’s statement. “The famine? No. No… and—and _all_ the servants...?”

“Yes.”

San looked away for a moment, but Wooyoung saw just enough to note the pained expression that drew over his face. San was just as disconnected with the outside world as he was—except San was still being served grand feasts at suppertime, while Wooyoung was scraping granules of rice from his pot, huddled around the fireplace as if it were his only source of life. They were nothing alike, he and San. It was something Wooyoung had always known, and yet the disparity seemed apparent now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” San whispered after a while. 

Woooyoung breathed out the beginning of a laugh, heavy and self-deprecating. “Why should a Prince be trifled with the complaints of his servant?”

San went silent for a moment, hand still placed on Wooyoung’s forehead, the warmth soothing his pallid skin. The subtle autumn breeze drifting inside the stable nipped at Wooyoung’s nose and the tips of his ears, long hair barely shielding him from the cold that sent shivers down his neck and spine. 

“You’re more than my servant,” San said finally, and he could hear the slight break in his voice, cracking around the middle. 

Before Wooyoung could reply, San removed his hand, then shrugged his long wool coat off his shoulders. It was a deep beige, falling just past his mid-thigh. It was expensive, undoubtedly—perhaps custom—but surprisingly humble for a member of the royal family. This was the first time Wooyoung had seen him wear it—it was starting to get a bit colder now, after all, the leaves flushing hues of brown and orange and drifting from the trees, crunching beneath Wooyoung’s feet as he made his daily treks around the property.

San draped the coat over Wooyoung’s body, immediately enveloping him in an overwhelming sense of calm, the material comfortably heavy and well-warmed by San’s body. The first thing he noticed, after the abundant warmth, was the scent—he couldn’t describe it, not as anything he knew, at least, but it smelled like San.

It smelled like the crook of San’s neck, Wooyoung’s head buried against his shoulder as he hung on to him for dear life on Aurora’s back. It smelled like San catching Wooyoung in his arms when he slipped in the pasture, chuckling lightly at Wooyoung’s clumsiness. It smelled like San wrapping his arms around him, brushing against him from behind as he plucked the twine from Wooyoung’s fingers.

“Besides,” San continued, pulling Wooyoung back to the present. “I need you in good shape to care for my horses.”

“Of course,” Wooyoung breathed, growing drowsy beneath the heavy wool blanketing him.

San’s hand connected with Wooyoung’s shoulder, massaging lightly. It felt incredible, though slightly painful against his bones, which jutted uncomfortably from his shoulders. “You’re wasting away, Wooyoung.”

“I know.” 

“I’ll fix this.”

Wooyoung chuckled, exhausted and cynical. “You can’t fix a famine single handedly.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then…?”

San’s hand massaged at his shoulder, rubbing circles against the crook of his neck. “Don’t worry about it. You need rest.”

“My chores—”

“Don’t worry about them either.”

“San—”

“That’s an order, stable boy,” San contended with a stern tone, though his soft smile betrayed warmth. 

_Warmth._

Wooyoung was also growing quite warm beneath the wool coat, the silken lining smooth against his chilled skin. The top of his head still kissed San’s thigh, nearly resting against it, and San’s hand gently kneaded at his shoulder, lulling him into a comfortable trance. San probably said something else to him, but Wooyoung couldn’t make it out before he drifted away, letting restful warmth wash over him.

When he woke up, he was still on the hay bale, curled up beneath San’s thick coat. His eyes searched for San instinctively, looking for the comfort of his hand, the sincerity of his smile, the heat of his gaze, but the stable was dark as midnight—dusk had long fallen, and San was nowhere to be found. Wooyoung buried his head in San’s coat, taking in the scent. 

He wondered if San had stayed with him while he slept. He wondered if San even drifted away a bit himself, hand still lingering against Wooyoung’s shoulder. 

Wooyoung would have liked that. 


	5. v

**29th of october**

  
  
  


"You’re looking better already.”

Wooyoung glanced up to San standing just at the pasture’s entrance, resting his elbows against the fence. He was silhouetted against the sky, the sun having just barely risen, glowing bright orange on the horizon. 

“You’re here early,” Wooyoung remarked. He had only just begun turning the mares into their pastures, starting with Treasure, whose halter Wooyoung had just removed. She pranced away to the far end, leaving Wooyoung standing alone at the gate with San. 

“I couldn’t wait to see you,” San answered quickly. “I mean, I wanted to make sure you were doing alright. You had me worried sick, fainting like that.”

“I’m sorry…” Wooyoung started, but San was clearly not planning to let him apologize. 

“I assume you got the extra shipment, then?” 

The extra shipment.

A second cart had arrived at the stables the day after he’d fainted in front of San, and Wooyoung almost thought it was sent by mistake, until he saw the basket of overflowing rations—several loves of bread, large sacks of rice and grains, and nearly a dozen eggs. There were even a few pastries wrapped in cloth—he’d never been delivered pastries before, unless he was counting the two tarts San had snuck him from the palace.

He almost felt guilty, but that feeling was immediately eclipsed by bliss as he scarfed down meal after meal, relief immediately washing over him. It took several days for him to regain his energy fully, but he could already feel his weak frame filling back out and the life returning to his skin, no longer sunken and pale. Still, the guilt couldn’t help but creep back in, realizing how privileged he was to have food during a famine, just because he happened to be San’s servant.

Wooyoung responded with an apprehensive nod. “Yeah… how did you..?”

“Once I returned to the palace, I ordered for a second shipment of rations to be sent immediately. I can’t have my stable boy too weak to do his work, can I? I’m the Prince, after all. They’d be foolish to disobey my orders. You should be getting full rations from here out.”

“But… doesn’t that mean I’m taking food from someone else?”

San’s lips twisted into a frown, eyebrows furrowing. “You were starving to death, Wooyoung. You have one of the most physically strenuous positions in the palace. I couldn’t watch you waste away.”

Wooyoung looked down, voice wavering as he spoke. “I don’t want someone… I don’t want someone to die because of me. Because I took their rations...”

“Your life is the only one that matters to me right now.” Wooyoung froze in his tracks, startled by the grave tone of San’s voice. He looked deadly serious, and the look in his eyes prompted Wooyoung to back down. “So don’t—don’t question it, please.”

“Well, I’m grateful. I’m really grateful, San… thank you.”

San nodded, the warmth returning to his face after a moment. “That’s all that matters then.”  
  
  
  


**5th of november**

  
  
  


Wooyoung fisted the soft fabric in his hands, squeezing tight around it. It was thick, undoubtedly warm, and absolutely beautiful—a thick quilt spun in hues of cream, gold, emerald and ruby in large squares of mismatched patterns. 

“How did you…?”

“Sneak it here?”

Wooyoung nodded. “If they knew you were bringing gifts to your stablehand… and such beautiful ones like this, nonetheless...”

“I stuffed it in a messenger bag and I told them it’s for the horses. They usually don’t question it, nor did they check. My father’s guards may be stern, but they’re usually quite daft.”

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around the blanket, hugging it against his body. It was utterly luxurious, and he felt like an elite just holding it. “It’s marvellous, San. Really. Thank you.”

Wooyoung took a seat on the stacks of hay bales, leaning against the larger stack behind him, as if sitting in a lounge chair. He draped the thick quilt over his body, shielding him from the crisp autumn air. The sky was dull beyond the stable windows, blanketed by gray clouds that obscured the sun from view, and although it was still mid-afternoon, it felt as though the sun had already set.

The daylight was growing shorter as winter encroached, meaning San spent less and less time on the days he arrived. He made a habit of arriving just after dawn, though it didn’t make much of a difference. Wooyoung blinked and it seemed he was gone, beginning the unrelenting cycle of counting down the days anew. 

San had offered to help him finish his chores early—taking trips to the well, mucking the stalls and turning the horses out in the pasture with all the seasoned grace of a man who’d done it his whole life—so they could sit and eat supper together. 

But Wooyoung forgot about supper the moment he draped the heavy quilt over his body, feeling the fabric on him like a warm embrace. He forgot about his aching limbs and his stomach grumbling in protest. And the whole world seemed to disintegrate around him the second San took a seat next to him on the hay, pinching the edge of the blanket to slide his own body under it.

And then they were there, together, curled up on the hay and swaddled beneath San’s quilt, which, though luxurious, was quite small for two. He felt San’s thigh brush up against his, and Wooyoung’s heart nearly froze in his chest. He pictured San’s frame beneath the blanket, imagined how easy it would have been to press up against him, wrapping his arms around San’s chest, cradling his head in the crook of San’s neck and taking in the comforting scent. 

He wondered what San’s hands might be doing beneath the quilt. He wondered if San, too, was desperate for touch, for warmth, to be held. 

“I made this quilt, you know,” San whispered after a moment. 

San’s voice startled Wooyoung back to reality. “ _You_ did?” 

“Mm. We had a handmaiden, when I was younger. She was always sewing these intricate quilts, and I was absolutely fascinated. I begged her to teach me.”

“So you made this when you were young?”

“It took several years, actually. I wasn’t sure _why_ I was making it, exactly, or who I was making it for. Myself, I suppose. My servants would put me to bed, and I would pretend to sleep until they left. When they were gone, I’d slip the fabric from under my bed. It’s a bit messy. Sewing in the dark isn’t ideal, after all. But it was better than being left alone with my thoughts, at night...”

Something about San’s voice as it trailed off was melancholy. Wooyoung felt the urge to reach out to him, thread their fingers together and squeeze. Instead, his hands twitched and fidgeted nervously in his lap. 

“It was unfinished, actually, until now. I finished it so I could bring it to you.”

“You… you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” San insisted. 

“I’m not sure I could ever repay you,” Wooyoung said, puffing out a half-chuckle. “Add it to my family’s debt, I suppose. It’s not as though I’ll ever pay it off, anyway. Not in my lifetime.” 

San went silent at his side. Wooyoung had the urge to glance over to him, admire his profile, his sharp eyes, his soft, delicate lips… 

Truthfully, Wooyoung was afraid of the mistakes he might make if he looked at San now, the dim light of the oil lamp casting shadows on his face, illuminating every sharp curve. He was afraid his body might lean forward without thinking, afraid he couldn’t help tracing his fingertips down San’s chest. 

Wooyoung was going absolutely mad. If anyone knew he was having these thoughts, he’d be hung from the gallows. If anyone knew he was having these thoughts about the Prince, well… he’d be personally executed by the King. 

Wooyoung needed to speak, needed to change the subject before he did something absolutely preposterous. “So, did you… want to be a seamstress—I mean, did you—do you want to sew? Would you want to, as a profession… I mean.”

He was absolutely losing his mind. 

San breathed out a laugh. “Oh, no, not at all. I’d be quite a lousy one. Truthfully, if I weren’t obligated to take over my father’s reign… well, I’ve always wanted to be a riding instructor.”

“A riding instructor?” 

“Mm,” San hummed, and Wooyoung could hear his hair rustle against the hay behind him as he nodded. “I’ve always loved children—and horses, of course. If I weren’t a prince, I think I’d want to teach children to ride. It’s my dream, you could say. Silly of me to dream, though, I suppose. As the only King’s only male heir, I can’t run from my responsibility to the throne.”

Wooyoung glanced over, foolishly. San looked ethereal in the lamplight—divine and radiant, as though he were not a royal, but an angel. San met his glance, gaze hovering over Wooyoung’s lips for a moment too long, and Wooyoung thought he might faint, his limbs going weak and his heart thrumming against his chest in an erratic rhythm.

Wooyoung forced his gaze away first. 

The Prince was set to be wed. He was probably kissing his betrothed, not dreaming of kissing his stablehand—Wooyoung would have been an imbecile to think any differently. 

“That’s why I love teaching you so much,” San continued, giving Wooyoung a minute to breathe. “You’re a blank slate. Not much different from a child, really.”

Wooyoung broke into a laugh. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

San returned his laugh with one of his own, which slowly faded into a more serious tone. “What would you say to another ride? Next week, perhaps? I could use the stress relief.”

“Only if… only if I was with you, again.”

“Of course.”

  
  
  


**12th of november**

  
  
  


Wooyoung was going mad.

Three nights in a row, he’d awoken in a sweat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the quilt that blanketed his limbs when he slept. 

Ever since he'd been wrapped up beneath the blanket with San, he’d dreamt of unspeakable things. Of sin. Immorality. He’d dreamt of acts that would have the King personally carrying out his public execution if he ever found out, but not before torturing Wooyoung first, relentlessly and without a shred of mercy.

He’d dreamt of him and San, beneath the blanket, dreamt that their fingers threaded together, dreamt that he leaned in, dreamt of his soft lips… 

He was going absolutely _mad_.

Wooyoung could barely look San in the eye when he arrived wearing a keen smile and a prancing gait, his whole body radiating with enthusiasm.

“Ready to ride?” San chirped, practically skipping on his heels as he unlatched Aurora’s stall door.

Wooyoung already knew he wasn’t going to be able to handle this. His mind raced with thoughts of him and San beneath the quilt, bodies pressed together… lips… 

“Come on, don’t look so frightened. I’ll be right behind you.”

“My chores—”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll help you get through them later.”

“W-wait. _Behind_?”

“I thought we’d do things a bit differently today. I’ll still be with you, you’ll just be in front this time. I’ll have you hold the reins, but I’ll be right behind you if you need me to take over. It’s almost safer than being in the back, really. You’ll have your feet in the stirrups, so you can get a feel for it. Then next time, perhaps we can ride separately. What do you think?”

“I think you are vastly overestimating me.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes...” Wooyoung answered, though his tone betrayed uncertainty. 

“Then trust me. I wouldn’t push you harder than I know you can handle.”

Wooyoung agreed reluctantly, tossing aside his anxiety in favor of the heat that festered inside his core, fluttering in his stomach and rising through his chest as he thought of San pressed up behind him…

“Ready?”

Shit. Had he really been so wrapped up in his thoughts that San had already finished saddling Aurora? 

Wooyoung grasped the reins in his hands as San guided him onto the mounting block, then pressed his left foot into the stirrup, pressing his weight down in it as he swung his leg over. Aurora shuffled on her hooves beneath him, sending a wave of anxiety shooting down his spine, which was quickly eclipsed by the feeling of San settling down behind him in the saddle.

His hips slid against Wooyoung’s backside, the top of San’s thighs grazing against the back of his. Wooyoung’s hands trembled around the reins until San’s arms snaked around his torso, curling his fingers over Wooyoung’s. 

Warmth crept up through Wooyoung’s core, flooding through his limbs and nipping at his cheeks. The Prince held him delicately, as if he were a flower, but he could feel San’s hips pressing against him, a firm bulge pressing up against—

Wooyoung thought he might faint right there, slip out of the saddle and topple to the ground. How did San expect him to stay upright with the way his hips held still against Wooyoung’s lower back, the way his thumbs slid across the back of Wooyoung’s palms, soothing his trembling fingers on the reins, the way his waist pressed firmly against the small of Wooyoung’s back? 

He felt San’s breath against the back of his neck, sending shivers in unending waves rocking down Wooyoung’s spine. 

“You’re hardly breathing,” San whispered, dangerously close to his ear, hot breath steaming against his neck. They hadn’t moved an inch, and Wooyoung already didn’t think he could make it another minute. His crotch ached uncomfortably against the saddles pommel, heat flooding to his cock. 

“You seem to forget I’m frightened of horses, Prince,” Wooyoung breathed cynically, a strained effort to mask his unraveling mind, body quickly following suit. 

San’s fingers curled tighter around his hands. Wooyoung wanted to thread his fingers with San’s, wanted to… 

“I’m right here,” San soothed, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles against Wooyoung’s hand, which held the reins in a sweat-slick, unsteady grip. “You’re going to be just fine. I’ve got you.”

 _You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was going through right now,_ Wooyoung wanted to say.

“Okay,” he said instead, mustering a resolute nod. 

“Press in with your heels on her sides. Just a small nudge, okay?”

Wooyoung obeyed, nudging Aurora forward into a walk. His heart lurched in his chest, but he wasn’t sure if it was from Aurora or from the way San’s hands let go of the reins, positioning on Wooyoung’s waist instead. 

“S-San, wait—I don’t know how to steer…”

“Aurora knows the trails. She’s a good girl. She won’t disobey as long as I’m on her.”

“A-are you sure?” Wooyoung stuttered.

“Would you rather I move my hands back?” San breathed against Wooyoung’s ear, hips rolling in the saddle against him with the gentle rhythm of Aurora’s gait. San’s grip tightened around his waist, holding him steady.

Wooyoung thought his brain might melt. “No. No. It’s… fine.”

As much as Wooyoung had been terrified to be on top of a horse again, their calm ride along the trail faded into the background, his anxiety eclipsing the real thing on his mind—San’s crotch against Wooyoung backside, hips pressing against his and something hard nudging against his ass. 

He thought his heart might cease beating each time Aurora lurched over a fallen branch or did a step into trot to ascend a small hill, the way San’s hands gripped as his waist, holding him still, fingers digging into Wooyoung’s skin beneath his uniform. He whispered soothing words against Wooyoung’s ear as they traversed the woods, but all Wooyoung could focus on was the ache of his own bulge against his trousers.

He squeezed his eyes tight, imagining his own inevitable execution, trying to ignore San’s crotch rolling against him, fingers pressing deep into his waist. 

“Wooyoung?” San breathed. “Hey, Wooyoung.”

His own name out of San’s mouth was intoxicating, sweet and buttery like a fruit tart, and Wooyoung nearly felt himself melting into the saddle.

“Hmm?”

“We’re back.”

Wooyoung blinked his eyes open, the familiar darkness inside the stable causing him to exhale a sigh of relief. He’d certainly committed enough sin for one day.  
  
San slipped off the saddle first, leaving an indescribably emptiness in his wake, though Wooyoung felt he could finally breathe without San’s crotch pressing into him. He dismounted gracefully, hopping off of Aurora’s back, then stepped to the side near Aurora’s neck to allow Wooyoung to hop off in front of him.

“Feet out of the stirrups first, then just swing one leg over the back and hop down.”

“You make it sound easy.”

San let out a chuckle. “You can grab a bit of her mane if you want. It won’t hurt her.” 

Wooyoung slipped his feet out of the stirrups, letting them hang down, then braced against Aurora’s mane with a vice-tight grip. His dismount was going smoothly until Wooyoung’s heels smacked against the ground at an awkward angle, sending him tripping straight into San’s arms. San caught him by the biceps, and Wooyoung glanced up just enough to see San’s face a hair's breadth away from own. 

Their lips just barely brushed against each other as they nearly collided. Wooyoung stumbled backwards, but he was still gripped tightly in San’s arms, inches from his face. He expected San to push him away, brush it off with a laugh or a jest, but instead, San lingered there for a moment that felt much longer than it actually was.

Time seemed to warp around them, San’s fingertips pressing against Wooyoung’s bicep, and if he weren’t already going mad, Wooyoung might have believed there was conflict in San’s eyes as they fell over his, flickering down to his lips. 

His lips.

Wooyoung averted his gaze, clearing his throat as he pushed away from San. He let out a weak, forced laugh. “Sorry. I suppose I still haven’t mastered the dismount.”

“Wasn’t too bad, until the end,” San teased. 

Wooyoung opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. All he could see, all he could think about, were San’s lips, soft like velvet, beckoning him in. 

If San knew what he were thinking, he’d probably be disgusted. He’d probably never want to see him again. In fact, he’d probably order Wooyoung’s execution for himself.

For the fourth time, that night, Wooyoung dreamt of San’s lips. 

  
  


**19th of november**

  
  
  


“You haven’t finished?”

“You should know how many chores there are around here, Stable Prince. Didn’t you used to do them yourself?” Wooyoung cocked a smirk. “I think you may have told me that once or twice.”

“Clever. That’s a no, then?”

Wooyoung shrugged, reaching up to wipe a trail of cool sweat from his forehead. “Unfortunately. Work never ceases for a servant of the palace.”

“You’re cynical today,” San noted, grabbing one of the pitchforks resting against the stalls. “I propose a race.”

“...A race?” 

“To see which one of us can muck the stalls quickest.” San pointed behind him to the stalls on the left side. “I take the geldings, you take the mares.”

Wooyoung tapped his finger against his chin pensively, lips curling up into a playful smile, raising his eyebrows.“What do I get if I win?”

“I’ll sneak you an extra fruit tart next week.”

Wooyoung could feel his face light up instantly, saliva pooling on his tongue as he imagined the buttery crust melting against his tongue. “Well, see, that’s all you had to say. And if you win?”

“You spend the rest of the evening here with me. Until dusk, of course.”

“And if I was going to do that anyway?”

“Well then it’s not a bad bet then, is it? And at the end of our race, we’ll have more time to spend together. The sun’s about to set, you know.”

Wooyoung tightened his grip around the wooden handle of his own pitchfork. “Mucking the stalls just so you can spend time with me? Surely your other friends don’t take so much effort.”

San pressed his lips together. “I don’t have any other friends. Well, none that I like, anyways. Noblemen are quite dull.”

“And I’m not?” Wooyoung questioned playfully, quirking an eyebrow up.

“No, Wooyoung, you’re not.”

There was his name again—the one that was like honey dripping off his tongue, sweet like jam and smooth like custard. 

Wooyoung must have taken too long to respond, because San tapped his pitchfork against the floor impatiently. “So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” Wooyoung said with one resolute nod, a mischievous grin creeping up on his face.

Wooyoung would win, undoubtedly. He was sure San knew it too, but it didn’t matter. San would get what he wanted either way. 

San lifted one arm in the air, then struck it down with showy exaggeration. “Go!”

Wooyoung won, of course. 

  
  
  


**26th of november**

  
  
  


Wooyoung took a seat on the hay bale, watching the dull grey skies fade to twilight as the sun fell somewhere beyond the horizon. On these days, he despised the arrival of dusk, because it meant San would inevitably be carted back off to the palace, away from him, and more importantly, into the arms of his betrothed. A woman. A princess. Not Wooyoung. 

Dusk didn’t matter today, though. San never came around. 

Wooyoung was getting used to San’s weekly visits, taking them for granted, as if he were somehow entitled to San’s presence at least once per week. San was always going to be fleeting for him. Once he was married, Wooyoung couldn’t be certain what would happen to him, but he surmised he wouldn't see him as much, not that he saw him much now. 

He tore off a piece of bread from his loaf, savoring every bite as though it were his last. Though it no longer affected him, he was sure the famine had not ceased as winter grew colder and more barren, leaving the soil parched and hard beneath his feet. Even the horses grazed less in the pasture, the grass browning as winter fell, and thus relied heavier on their deliveries of grain and hay to keep them full. 

Wooyoung wrapped the quilt around his shoulders, shielding him from the brisk air. The stable acted as insulation from the winter chill, which, although not too harsh, grew to be quite uncomfortable after a while of working outdoors. He had his fireplace, of course, but it was freestanding, meaning he couldn’t leave the fire going all night unless he wanted to risk the place going up in flames.

He watched as dusk turned to night beyond the windows, leaving the stable dim, the crackling fireplace and several oil lamps the only source of light when night fell. The sky was blanketed in grey clouds, obscuring the moonlight that usually filtered in while Wooyoung slept. He couldn’t exactly be sure how long he sat there, slowly chipping away at his saved rations as he waited for his exhausted body to carry him to sleep. There wasn’t much to do but sleep, after all.

A creak startled him upwards as he reached for his jug of ale to take one final swig, the large stable doors parting slightly to let in a rush of cool air. 

“Wooyoung?” a voice called quiet, unmistakable and tinged with sweetness. San.

“San?“

“You’re still awake,” San breathed with a sigh of relief.

“What… how did you…?”

“I snuck out when the guards switched shifts. Stole another one of the cavalry's horses. Left him in the arena so he wouldn’t make a fuss.”

“You rebel,” Wooyoung teased, flashing a smile. It reminded him of the first time he’d properly met San, when he’d snuck out in the middle of the night just like this. 

He could see the bright-white flash of teeth from across the stable as San walked towards him. He looked empyreal in the soft lamp glow, as if he’d descended from the heavens. 

Perhaps Wooyoung had fallen asleep. Perhaps this was a dream again.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today. During the day, at least. My father… he… well, I suppose it doesn’t concern you. But I—I came because I needed to see you. They’re shipping me off to the Princess’ kingdom starting tomorrow morning. I’ll be there for two weeks, perhaps more. I’m not sure.”

“I won’t see you?” Wooyoung asked, voice dropping wistfully as San took a seat in the hay next to him. He could see San cupping something in his palm, silver glinting in the dim light. 

San shook his head. “Not until I get back. He wants me to spend time with the Princess…” San paused, voice growing quiet. “...intimately.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened as he turned to San, who returned his gaze with a look of distress. “Oh, nothing like that. We won’t… we won’t have to consummate our marriage until it actually happens. In fact, we’re discouraged from doing anything like that. But my Father, though traditional, is concerned about my lack of interest towards the Princess. I suppose I’m bad at masking my distaste for her. He thinks if he sends me off with her, if he allows us to spend time alone, we’ll…” 

“Fall in love?”

San dropped his eyes, fiddling with the metal tin in his hands, which Wooyoung immediately recognized as a fruit tart—just as he was promised. “There’s a lot of pressure on me to produce another male heir as soon as possible. It’s all my father seems to think I’m good for.”

Wooyoung went quiet, and San lifted his gaze, flashing a forced smile. He lifted his palm towards Wooyoung, offering him the tin. “Enough about me. I seem to remember you were promised a fruit tart?”

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten.”

San pushed his lower lip into an offended pout, eyebrows pinching together. “I’d never forget.”

“You know, today’s my birthday.”

San’s eyes went wide, both eyebrows quirking up. “Really? Why didn’t you—?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Tell you? I didn’t think it mattered. It’s not as though I’d be delivered a cake.” He lifted the tin from San’s palm, placing it down on his lap. “But a fruit tart is better anyway. Thank you.”

Wooyoung picked at the edges of the golden crust absently as San shifted his position on the hay so he was facing Wooyoung slightly. Wooyoung reciprocated, hardly able to meet San’s eyes with the way his heart was racing in his chest every time their eyes met. Averting his gaze wasn’t much better—if he wasn’t meeting San’s gaze, his eyes naturally fell over his lips as if enchanted by a spell. 

They talked as Wooyoung picked at the tart, but he couldn’t have cared less about the pastry. It was bland, tasteless in comparison to what Wooyoung imagined San’s lips might taste like. They shone in the flickering light with an irresistible luster, beckoning him in with a relentless allure.

Their conversation reached a natural lull, San’s voice fading into the background as Wooyoung fell further under his princely spell, letting his gaze travel across every inch of San’s features, admiring his tall cheekbones, his sharp jaw, his plush lips, delicate and supple, begging for him to lean in… 

Wooyoung flinched slightly as San leaned forward over his lap, one hand reaching out to swipe his thumb across the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth, brushing away a few crumbs that had settled there. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, creeping up in his chest, seizing control of his heart as San’s thumb grazed lightly across the edge of his lips, wiping away the mess. 

“See, what did I say? You’re like a child,” San teased with an endearing grin, eyes forming into crescents that set Wooyoung’s heart fluttering in his chest.

“At least I know how to walk in the mud,” Wooyoung jested back with a chuckle. “I’ll never forget the look on your face. Like an infant.”

“What about _your_ face when I pulled you down? I swear I’d never seen someone look so flabbergasted.”

“Fuck off,” Wooyoung teased back with a laugh, faking offense. 

San’s giggle grew into a boisterous laugh, nudging Wooyoung’s shoulder with a playful push, eliciting another laugh from Wooyoung that grew into a flurry of high pitched giggles. He gave San a small shove back, and San reciprocated, letting out the cutest squeak as he pressed his palm against Wooyoung’s chest, sending him falling back against the hay. Wooyoung clasped his hand around San’s wrist as he fell backwards, pulling San down with him. 

San collapsed on his elbows just beside Wooyoung, propped up inches from his face. The stable went quiet as their laughter died out, and Wooyoung suddenly realized just how close San was, so close he could practically taste San’s breath as it washed over him. 

San didn’t speak.

Why wasn’t he speaking? 

Wooyoung couldn’t speak either, his words lodged in his throat in the same place his breath was caught, heart practically unbeating—or perhaps beating so hard he couldn’t even feel it anymore. San’s gaze fell on his, silent, lingering, then to Wooyoung’s lips…

No. Wooyoung was imagining it.

Wooyoung’s mouth just barely parted, as if trying to force out a word, trying to cut through the silence—

San leaned in slowly, capturing Wooyoung’s lips in his. Inexplicable heat bloomed in Wooyoung’s chest, expanding through his limbs until he could hardly feel anything but warmth. His thoughts melted away, consumed in disbelief, and more importantly, consumed in the feeling of San’s lips against him, soft and velvety and so, _so_ warm.

He had the fleeting thought that he might be dreaming, that San might pull away and he might wake up alone in the hay again. But this kiss was so much more than he had ever dreamed about. This kiss was time-stopping, mind-melting, enough to feel his whole body on fire beneath him. Dreams didn't feel like this.

San pulled back, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but lean into the empty space he left. His gaze fell downwards as he rested his forehead against Wooyoung’s gently, breath washing over Wooyoung’s lips as he spoke. “I-I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t—I can’t stop thinking about you… Even when I’m with her, I know I deserve to have my head hung in the square for this, but—”

Wooyoung raised both hands to San’s cheeks, gently thumbing across San’s lower lip, half to quiet him, and half to ground himself in reality—to _feel_ San, to make sure he wouldn’t disintegrate if he touched him, to make sure he was real. 

“Kiss me again,” Wooyoung breathed, lips grazing against San’s. He tasted just as sweet as his voice, like the residual fruit tart on his own lips, like strawberry jam, like royalty, like _San._

Chills rocketed like lightning down Wooyoung’s spine as San’s lips pressed against his again, harder this time, intentional, ardent and eager. Wooyoung pushed back with fervor of his own, letting his hands trail down San’s cheek and to his neck, kneading into the skin. 

He didn’t care if kissing San was a sin. He didn’t care about the consequences if anyone found out. He didn’t care that the King would personally have his head for what he was doing with the Prince. He didn’t care. 

He didn’t care about anything but the way San melted against his lips, tilting his head and letting one hand thread through the hair just behind Wooyoung’s ear, combing his fingers through the slicked-back strands, causing some of his hair to slip from the gold ribbon. San’s thumb massaged small circles just beneath his ear as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss as he caught Wooyoung’s lower lip in his. 

San’s kisses stole the breath straight from Wooyoung’s lungs. As much as he didn’t want to, as much as he wished he could stay there forever, collapsed in the hay with San’s lips moving against his, he pulled away just to breathe. 

Wooyoung panted out shallow, unsteady breaths as they disconnected. San massaged at his scalp, sending another wave of chills through Wooyoung’s body, then pressed his forehead against Wooyoung’s again, breath coming out heavy and hot.

“This is so much better than I imagined…”

Wooyoung’s eyes went wide, shallow breath catching like a rock in his throat. “Than… you imagined? You… imagined this?”

San’s lips ghosted against his, and it took every fiber of Wooyoung’s being to resist pulling him back in. “Every night.”

Wooyoung once again found himself speechless, unable to make sense of anything at all.

“Every night, I’d lie awake in bed, imagining this… imagining us. I realized why I couldn’t feel a connection with the Princess. It wasn’t time… it was you. When I was dancing with her, I could only imagine you there instead.”

Wooyoung had the urge to pull him back in, to grab San’s body and tug it on top of his own. Instead, he pressed a palm to San’s chest, trailing it downwards to feel across his stomach. 

“I dreamt about you, too. I dreamt of this…”

San pressed down in another kiss, catching Wooyoung off guard. His heart skipped a beat as he lingered there, feeling San’s curl into a smile against his. San pulled away after a moment, leaving the cool breeze of the autumn air nipping at Wooyoung’s skin.

“I thought I was going crazy,” San sighed, the warmth of his breath against Wooyoung’s lips nearly beckoning him back in. “I knew it was a sin, I knew we couldn’t but I… I couldn’t help it. I was going mad, I swear.”

“You’re not crazy. I thought the same thing. And you’re the _prince._ I thought you’d order my execution if you knew...”

San breathed out a chuckle. “My father would. I think he’d kill both of us.”

Wooyoung nudged his lips forward again, capturing San in another slow kiss. His lips were like silk, and Wooyoung wanted to melt against them. He closed his fingers around the fabric of San’s shirt, realizing he was still palming across his chest. 

San released first, tugging Wooyoung on his side as he followed suit, moving off his elbow to lay down in the hay fully. Their eyes met as their heads collapsed against the hay. San reached over to grab the quilt that Wooyoung had been wrapped in when he arrived, which had fallen to the side when San pushed him down, wrapping their bodies in the soothing warmth. 

Wooyoung admired San’s face, and for a moment, he didn’t look like a prince at all, didn’t look like royalty, didn’t look untouchable. He looked like a normal person, he looked within reach. He looked like San. Wooyoung liked that.

“Can I tell you something?” San asked, voice so quiet Wooyoung would have barely caught it if he weren’t already staring at his lips.

“Anything.”

“Whenever I laid in my bed at night, I’d imagine you there, curled up at my side. I’d imagine planting kisses along your cheeks…” San thumbed across the surface of Wooyoung’s neck, sending a chill down his spine. “...your lips… your neck…”

Heat pooled in Wooyoung’s cheeks, a strange tingle rolling through his body, one he’d never felt before. 

“You can,” Wooyoung blurted out without thinking. 

“Can…?”

“Kiss… my neck. If you want.”

San froze, eyes widening, visible crimson dusting his cheeks even in the dim light. 

“Y-you don’t have to,” Wooyoung backtracked, but San didn’t answer, only pinched Wooyoung’s chin in his fingers, gently tipping it up to expose his neck. 

Wooyoung could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat as San leaned in, planting a slow kiss against the surface. An unbidden moan slipped through Wooyoung’s lips, squirming slightly as San mouthed kisses downwards and back up, each lingering longer than the last. Wooyoung steadied his hands against San’s hair, threading his fingers through the soft locks. San pulled back after his lips drew across Wooyoung’s jaw, pressing one final kiss just beneath his ear. 

Wooyoung resisted the urge to pull San back in again. San’s lips were addicting, more intoxicating than a fine wine, but he also wanted to stare into San’s eyes, admiring the way they sparkled in the lamp light. Something about the way they laid together in the hay was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. 

“Now it’s my turn to tell you something,” Wooyoung started. San didn’t respond, only blinked his eyes, eyelashes fluttering devastatingly. “That… that was my first kiss.”

“Mine too.”

“You’re jesting.”

San did a slight shake of his head, rustling his hair against the dry strands of hay crunching beneath him. “I’m serious.”

“I thought surely…”

“I had no shortage of suitors. Girls whisking me away during royal banquets, hoping to secretly sneak a kiss with the Prince. But I always refused.”

Wooyoung didn’t doubt that he had girls all over him growing up. San was easily the most ravishing person he’d ever seen, like a work of art—a friendly yet striking face, sharp eyes, cheekbones that looked carved from stone and utterly irresistible lips. Lips that Wooyoung knew well. 

“...Why? Surely they were pretty.”

“I never wanted them. I didn’t know why at the time, but now…” San ran the pads of his fingertips along Wooyoung’s lower lip, letting his sentence fade away. “And you’re so much prettier than any noblewoman. You have no idea.”

Wooyoung went quiet for a moment before speaking again. “San.”

“Mmm?”

“Aren’t you worried about being caught? If your guards ever… if your guards ever found us like this…”

“We’ll just have to be careful then.”

“They’d kill me. And your father...”

San’s lips pressed into a frown, eyebrows furrowing. “ _Really_ careful then.”

“What about your marriage…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

San could sense the somberness in his tone, could see his eyes sparkle with a certain sadness.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wooyoung reassured, stroking his hand through San’s hair.

San leaned in, pressing a warm kiss against Wooyoung’s lips, and Wooyoung sighed against him. He never wanted to pull away, but he knew it couldn’t last forever—not this moment, nor San’s presence in his life. But for now, he could feel him, he could touch him. For now, he was real and he was kissing him, and that was all that mattered.

San was the first to pull back. 

“I know, Wooyoung,” San breathed with a charming smile, dimples creasing in his cheeks. “Happy birthday.”


	6. vi

**3rd of december**

  
  
  


Wooyoung’s dreams did not relent. 

Except, now, his dreams of San felt more like memories. He trailed his fingers down the surface of his own neck, retracing the path of San’s kisses like a map. He could practically feel the ghost of San’s lips against him, recalling their lingering warmth. He never wanted to let go of these memories, playing them on an endless loop as he went through the motions of his day, moving on instinct, limbs out of his control as if he were a marionette. 

His thoughts were anywhere but his work—his thoughts were San whispering against his ear, his thoughts were San fingers threaded in his hair and his lips mouthing wet kisses against his neck. And at night, he wrapped himself in San’s quilt, burying his face in the soft fabric until San’s scent faded away entirely. 

San didn’t show up, of course. 

Wooyoung dreamt of his lips. 

  
  
  


**10th of december**

  
  


Wooyoung unlatched the stable doors, pushing one side open to let in the brisk December air. Dawn melded into sunrise, streaks of orange and coral stippling the sky like oil paint on a canvas, marking the arrival of his work day. 

Truthfully, his work day was supposed to start much sooner, but he found it difficult to roll out of his hay bed, relinquishing his quilt in favor of the cold winter air, dry and frigid, stinging against his skin. Once he started his chores, of course, he would warm up—but without an afternoon of San to look forward to, he felt no urge to rush. Whether he finished before or after sunset wouldn’t matter, so getting a late start wasn’t much of an issue. 

He moved to swing the other door open when a dot on the horizon caught his eye—a carriage drawn by two white cavalry horses coming from the direction of the palace in the distance. 

Wooyoung blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fists, as if it would somehow fade away like an apparition. He watched, tucked behind the wall of the stable as the carriage came to a halt at the arena gates down the hill. The door swung open, and San emerged, looking dazzling even from so far away. 

He wanted to run.

He wanted to run towards San, he wanted to collapse in his arms, feel his warmth, remind himself that everything that had happened fourteen long nights ago wasn’t just another dream. His legs felt restless beneath him. He wanted to take off on a sprint, crashing into San with arms wide open. 

It was too risky—frankly, it was impossible. The guards watched as San ascended the slope from the arena, only turning the carriage around when San was halfway up the hill. 

It was still risky. The guards could have looked back, could have turned around, still barely departed from the area, still in their line of sight. 

Wooyoung didn’t care. Or, rather, he didn’t have time to care when he had already taken off from the stable’s door, sprinting down the gradual slope so haphazardly he nearly toppled down the path. 

The world went by in a blur, but Wooyoung saw enough to notice San’s face light up, a wide grin pulling across his face. He let out a squeak and a grunt as Wooyoung collapsed into his arms, nearly knocking the wind out of himself as he connected with San’s chest. San accepted him eagerly, bracing his arms around Wooyoung’s neck as Wooyoung clung to him.

He was real. He was holding Wooyoung, embracing him so tightly as if Wooyoung might disintegrate the minute he let go. 

Most importantly, it wasn’t a dream. This was the embrace of the man Wooyoung had kissed.

“San, thank god you’re back,” Wooyoung panted out in shallow breaths, squishing his cheek against San’s chest. He was just as warm as Wooyoung remembered, wearing that intoxicating scent that wasn’t describable in any way except _San_. “I thought I might have to wait another week…”

“It’s good to be home again,” San breathed against the top of Wooyoung’s head, planting a kiss against his hair with a deep inhale, as if taking in Wooyoung’s scent too. 

_Home._

San probably meant back to his own kingdom, back to his own palace, but Wooyoung couldn’t help but think he may have also meant the stables… may have also meant Wooyoung’s arms. 

Wooyoung pulled his head away, meeting San’s eyes from just inches away. “I missed you.”

San pressed a warm, gentle kiss against Wooyoung’s forehead, and Wooyoung practically melted in his arms. “I missed you, too.”

  
  
  


**17th of december**

  
  


Wooyoung had no idea why San was so insistent on accompanying him to the river to do his laundry. He was planning on doing it the day before San’s arrival, but the day had ended up being much colder than expected, a thick layer of frost blanketing the ground. 

But today, he’d woken up to the sun beating down across the pastures, dissolving the frosty morning dew into wet beads across the dried grass. It was pleasantly warm for winter, so much so that Wooyoung didn’t even bother wearing an extra layer as he made his way down past the mare’s pastures with a large water bucket and his dirtied uniform in hand. 

San followed Wooyoung to the river, contending that he wanted to learn how commoners washed their laundry, which, though said with a kind and genuine sentiment, was by far the most out-of-touch thing the Prince had ever said to him. 

San bent down at the river’s edge, running his fingertips along the stream of water. “It’s freezing cold, but not too bad.”

“You know I still have to bathe here in the winters,” Wooyoung grumbled. “Unlike you, I don’t have a team of servants warming my bathwater for me.”

Wooyoung dragged the bucket across the surface of the water, dipping it down to let the water flow in. He glanced over at San, who had just pushed himself up to his feet, pristine and remarkably royal. 

A wicked smile grew across Wooyoung’s face as an idea sparked in his head.

“San.” 

San flickered his gaze over, but not before Wooyoung pulled him in, grasping onto his forearms as he tugged him towards the river. San stumbled after him, locked in his embrace as Wooyoung jumped into the river’s depths, deep enough to hit his waist but not quite deep enough to swim. 

San fell on top of him as he was dragged in, fully clothed, swallowed by the river’s slowly flowing water. Wooyoung erupted into a fit of giggles as San trudged in the water, a shocked expression growing across his face.

“You dare push the Prince into a freezing river?” San gasped, obviously feigning offense, though his face betrayed surprise, eyebrows raised and jaw gaped. 

“You said you wanted to know how commoners do their laundry,” Wooyoung cooed with a smirk, draping his arms around San’s shoulders. “This is the most efficient way, wouldn’t you think?”

San rolled his eyes, then anchored his gaze to Wooyoung’s lips. “Clever.”

Wooyoung gave an exaggerated shiver, tightening his arms around San’s shoulders to tug San in closer. “I’m cold, your Highness.”

“And what do you expect me to do about that?” San whispered, tilting his head in just enough for his lips to ghost across Wooyoung’s as he spoke. 

There was a quick-witted quip somewhere in Wooyoung’s brain, but it was drowned out by those intoxicating lips, beckoning him in, eclipsed by San’s fingers traveling along his sides before settling at his waist. Wooyoung nudged his lips forward, capturing San’s in a kiss. 

He didn’t know how it could ever be better than the first, but somehow, each time was better than the last—warm, safe, spreading heat through his limbs even in the ice-cold river, winter sun kissing their skin. San sighed against his lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, letting their lips travel together in an ardent push-and-pull. 

San kneaded at the skin of his waist, letting his hands travel in massaging strokes along his sides, tugging Wooyoung’s hips against his. Wooyoung let out a whimper against San as their cocks brushed against each other beneath their soaked trousers, too cold to be hard but sensitive enough to have Wooyoung moaning against him as San ground his hips in. 

The last time Wooyoung had felt San’s crotch was when they’d ridden together, San sitting behind him, letting Aurora’s gait guide his hips against Wooyoung’s ass. Wooyoung had lost his mind, growing hard himself against the saddle. He couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams that San would be pressed up against him, capturing his lips in heated kisses, Wooyoung’s arms wrapped firmly around his neck. 

San pulled away, causing Wooyoung to stick his lower lip out in a mocking pout, but he was unable to mask the way his body shivered uncontrollably in the icy river. “I’m not warm yet, Prince.”

San gave a sheepish smile, all dimples and sunshine. “I think I need to get out of here before I freeze to death.”

  
  
  


**24th of december**

  
  
  


“You put the saddle pad on first…” 

Wooyoung nodded, tilting his head slightly as if that helped him somehow absorb the information better, but honestly, he was lost after the hoof-picking demonstration. 

“And what does the pad do?” Wooyoung asked, faking interest. He _was_ interested, just not in the lesson material. He was more interested in admiring San as he tacked up Aurora, explaining every last detail painstakingly. 

Wooyoung couldn’t care less about how to tack up a horse, but he’d be damned if San didn’t look incredible doing it—the way his eyes sparkled as he stroked Aurora’s fur, the way he lit up when explaining the thing he was most passionate about. 

“It keeps the saddle from rubbing uncomfortably on her back. Slip it just over the haunches, then place the saddle down on top of it. The saddle is held in place by the girth, which attaches at these buckles, see?”

San attached the girth on both sides, then prompted Wooyoung to tighten one side. Wooyoung trusted Aurora now, but he couldn’t help but flinch when she jolted upwards. 

“It’s okay,” San soothed, rubbing Wooyoung’s shoulders from behind as he secured the last buckle into place. “Mares tend to be a bit girthy—sensitive, around that area. She’s probably sucking in a lot of air. She’ll let it go, and it won’t be too loose. You see, usually there’s a martingale attached to the girth, which would also strap to her bridle, but she’s fine without it, too.”

Wooyoung nodded, as if he understood a single word, but it was as if San was speaking a different language entirely. Such were the privileges of the elite—having time to dabble in such frivolous activities, collecting jargon like trophies. 

“I’m gonna have you bridle her now.”

“Wh—San, no… she’s gonna bite me, or something.”

San leaned over, warm breath washing over the shell of his ear as San spoke from behind him. “It’ll be okay. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

“San—”

San pressed a kiss against the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, just below his ear. Wooyoung’s knees went weak, a small moan slipping out as San’s lips lingered on the surface of his skin before pulling away. “Trust me.”

  
  
  


**31st of december**

  
  
  


“San, it’s twilight, your guards are gonna—”

“What if I don’t want to go?” San whined with an exaggerated pout, cupping his palm around Wooyoung’s cheek and pulling him in for a final kiss.

“I don’t want you to go, either,” Wooyoung whispered, lips grazing against San’s as they parted. The stable was dim, save for the dim oil lamp and the flickering flame of the slowly dying fire eating through its kindling. A dim purple glow washed through the windows, descending into a deep violet as dusk fell outside. “You have to, your guards—”

Wooyoung’s train of thought was cut off by San’s hands grasping tightly on his shoulders, giving him a gentle shove backwards into the empty stall near the back of the stables. Wooyoung stumbled through the open stall door, letting San guide him as he pinned him against the inside of the stall with both arms.

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat, but there was also certain thrill in the way San caged him in, lips twisting into an amused grin, a certain absurdity at how stupid it was. Wooyoung couldn’t help but let out a laugh amidst his anxiety, and San followed with a playful giggle of his own, devious but sugar-sweet.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” San whispered, cupping his palm over Wooyoung’s mouth. 

Two deep voices chattered outside, drawing closer, loud enough to hear but not make out any particular words. 

_Shit._ The guards. 

San kept his hand clamped tightly over Wooyoung’s mouth, muffling his nervous giggles as he leaned against his ear. “Not a sound, okay?”

Wooyoung’s mind raced with panic and adrenaline, his own inevitable execution playing out in his mind as San held him there. If the guards entered, it was dark enough at the back of the barn to conceal him within the shadows of the stall, and he supposed he could duck and cover if he needed, but either way, it was risky. 

“Your Highness?” a deep voice called from beyond the stable door, distant enough that Wooyoung could tell they hadn’t stepped foot inside the stables yet. 

“On my way!” San called with an innocuous lilt. 

“It’s growing dark, Prince San.” 

“Right, right. I’ll be out at once. Just grant me one minute!” he called again, Wooyoung’s body still frozen against the stall’s interior. 

What was San—

He could see San smile deviously in the dim light as he leaned down, pressing his lips just below Wooyoung’s jaw in a wet kiss. Wooyoung squirmed beneath him, an unbidden whimper escaping his throat, which was thankfully muffled by San’s palm pressed firm against his lips. He mouthed kisses downwards along the surface of his neck, dangerously slow and seductive.

He felt San’s tongue against him, warm and wet, and Wooyoung did everything he could not to moan and thrash against the stall as San licked a stripe from his collarbone upwards, peppering playful nibbles along his jaw until he reached his ear. 

The creak of the stable doors opening nearly made Wooyoung’s heart drop from his chest.

“Sir—”

San pressed a kiss to Wooyoung’s earlobe before pulling away, releasing his hand as he slipped from the stall door. “Coming!”

Wooyoung’s knees buckled beneath him as San slipped away, leaving the cool stable air nipping at Wooyoung’s skin. Unsatisfied heat flooded his limbs in San’s wake, an uncomfortable hardness pressing against his trousers. 

He heard deep voices chattering as the stable doors latched closed again, leaving Wooyoung pressed against the wooden stable interior. His legs gave out the second the footsteps receded, back sliding down the wall until he crashed against the stall’s floor. 

And like that, San was gone again. 

And like that, Wooyoung remembered it always had to end. 


	7. vii

**7th of january**

  
  
  


“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute when you pout.”

Wooyoung didn’t know exactly how San convinced him to mount Treasure alone in the arena, but somehow, he was on her back, fingers curled around the reins in a death grip, feet planted in the stirrups like a lifeline. Treasure was old, gentle, but absolutely enormous—a giant beast, a tall monster with long, slender legs, and Wooyoung felt as though he were walking on stilts.

She walked in a slow circle as San guided her around with a rope—a lunge line, as he called it.

“I’ll keep her on the line, so you don’t even need to steer. Just get used to keeping your balance, okay?”

Wooyoung nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’re just… she’s just gonna walk, right?”

“I never said that.”

“San—”

“Trust me.”

Wooyoung walked like that for a while, San guiding treasure in small circles around him with the lunge line. He held a thin whip in the other hand, which he trailed along the arena’s sandy footing. Wooyoung wanted to make conversation, try to keep himself distracted, but he was too focused on trying not to fall and die to make any comprehensible words.

“Ready?” San prompted.

“...For what?” Wooyoung asked in a panicked croak, voice betraying him. 

San made a kissing noise with his lips pursed, cracking the whip slightly against the ground. Treasure kicked up into a prancing trot, sending Wooyoung’s hips lurching out of the saddle. Her trot was immediately bouncier than Aurora’s, which Wooyoung had experienced only briefly on the trails with San behind him, but he couldn’t remember being thrown around like a child’s doll, flopping helplessly in the saddle. 

San nearly doubled over in a fit of laughter as Wooyoung floundered about, digging his feet uselessly into the stirrups. He’d watched San trot countless times in the arena, on horses much loftier than Treasure, and he only now realized just how impressive it was that he made it look so effortless.

“Not… funny!” Wooyoung squealed as he attempted to ground himself back in the saddle, failing miserably. 

San tugged at the rope with a _whoa_ , and Treasure eased back into a slow walk, leaving Wooyoung breathless.

“Is that how you’d train your children if you were an instructor?” Wooyoung panted. “Because I’d implore you to re-evaluate your teaching methods, if so.”

“Oh, no, certainly not,” San chuckled. “I just wanted to see if you could handle it. I was pleasantly surprised, really.”

“Are you saying that me flopping around like a dying fish was better than you imagined I’d do?”

“I prepared for you to fall,” San said with a shrug, as if that was casual enough to brush off. 

“You thought I’d _fall,_ and you still did it?”

“Falling is a part of riding, Wooyoung. You couldn’t imagine how many times I’ve fallen in this arena. I’ve been kicked, bucked off… thrown into the fence, even. But you get up, you brush yourself off, and you get back on with your head held high.”

Wooyoung’s lips parted, eyes widening in awe. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d always thought San was immune to such things—falling, getting hurt, being human. 

“It’s a great life lesson,” San continued with a gentle smile. “I was kind of hoping you’d fall, actually. Once you fall off a horse for the first time, you let go of the fear. You realize it won’t kill you—after you get over the bruises, of course.”

“I still can’t believe you tried to get me thrown off,” Wooyoung grumbled playfully, though he was half-serious.

“So, what do you say—another round of trot?”

Wooyoung shot San a deadly glare—one that said _I’ll personally order both of our executions myself if you even joke about it._

San only smiled sheepishly in response. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  
  
  


**14th of january**

  
  
  


“Your hair is slipping out of the ribbon,” San noted, admiring Wooyoung with the gentlest gaze as he stroked a hand across Wooyoung’s dark locks. “Turn around.”

Wooyoung obeyed, swiveling on his heels until his back was to San. He felt San pinch the ribbon, unraveling the bow and letting his long hair fall free against his neck.

There was something indescribably intimate about the way San tied his hair back, massaging at his scalp as he slipped his fingers through the strands of hair. Wooyoung’s hair wasn’t soft like San’s—it was sweat-marred, coated in dirt from working in the barn and sleeping in the hay, stiff and greasy as it spilled across his forehead and framed his face—but San combed through delicately, carefully, it as if it were spun from pure gold. 

San used both hands to pull the sides in tightly, leaving a few of the shorter strands free to frame Wooyoung’s face, as he usually did. 

“Your hair is getting quite long, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung puffed out a laugh. “I know. I thought about taking a knife to it, actually. Chopping it all off.”

“No. I like it,” San breathed, wrapping the ribbon around the thick gathering of hair. “You look enchanting with your hair up. Besides, I had this ribbon custom made for you.”

Wooyoung started to speak, but his words caught in his throat at San’s warm breath washing across the back of his neck, pressing his lips down just below his hairline. Wooyoung squirmed as San mouthed dangerously sensual kisses down the back of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt to nibble at his shoulder. Wooyoung could only respond with a whimper as San sucked at the skin, forming tiny bruises. 

“Sorry,” San whispered between kisses. “I couldn’t help myself. You have the loveliest neck.”

  
  
  


**21st of january**

  
  
  


Wooyoung was growing more comfortable on the back of a horse, but he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as San guided Aurora to the empty field just beside the mare’s pasture with Wooyoung in front, heels dug into the stirrups and holding onto the reins for dear life. San sat behind him, hips firmly planted against Wooyoung’s ass. 

“Relax, darling,” San whispered against Wooyoung’s ear, and Wooyoung almost ceased breathing right then and there. 

_Darling._

He didn’t have time to dwell on the nickname, though, as San reached around, guiding Wooyoung’s hands off the reins and to Aurora’s mane. San grabbed the reins instead, holding them tight in his fingers as his arms snaked around Wooyoung’s back, chest pressed firmly against him.

Panic swelled in Wooyoung’s chest. “What are you—”

“You’re gonna want to hold on tight. Feet in the stirrups, okay?”

“San, hold on, hold on…”

“Breathe. I’ll be right here. We’re just gonna canter a bit.”

“San, I’m gonna fucking kill you—”

San chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss against Wooyoung’s ear. “Hold on tight.”

Wooyoung wasn’t sure what San did, but Aurora kicked up into a canter from a dead halt. Wooyoung’s stomach did flips, churning ruthlessly as she took off across the field. Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it to end, focusing on the warmth and safety of San holding on behind him. 

San let out a squeaky giggle behind him, screaming into the air with a holler of joy, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but crack a smile through his fear. He blinked his eyes open cautiously, watching in fearful awe as the scenery flew by in green-and-blue streaks of grass and sky. 

San’s fingers let go of the reins, letting them rest on Aurora’s neck as she cantered, and Wooyoung thought he saw his life flash before his eyes, certain he would die as San flung his hands into the air, yelling into the endless expanse of the field, as if releasing all his stress into the sky, letting it fly away as Aurora dashed across the hard winter soil.

He’d never seen San like this—he’d never seen him just let go entirely. Wooyoung wondered if this was the first time he’d ever felt free. 

Wooyoung let out a laugh as San whooped and hollered, following suit with his own strained howl of freedom, and for a moment, he thought he might just not be afraid anymore. 

  
  
  


**27th of january**

  
  
  


Wooyoung wasn’t sure what was worse—knowing San would be gone, and trudging through his week aimlessly, or expecting San to show up, and feeling the realization hit him like a hoof to the stomach when he didn’t. 

Today, Wooyoung felt the latter. 

  
  
  


**4th of february**

  
  
  


Wooyoung’s jug of ale sloshed as he thumped it down to the ground. San’s hand clamped around his forearm, tugging him off the hay bale towards the empty stable aisle. “What are you—”

San tugged him in, holding him close. Their palms pressed together, and San laced his fingers with Wooyoung’s, his other hand moving to caress the small of Wooyoung’s back. “I believe I was promised a dance?”

Wooyoung scoffed playfully. “No, I believe _I_ was promised a dance. Supper and a show, remember?”

San flashed an endearing smile. “Come on. I need to practice for the ball. All eyes will be on me, you know.”

“You and the Princess,” Wooyoung corrected, and his heart stung as the weight of his own words lurched in his chest. He dropped his gaze to the floor, averting his eyes to keep San from seeing the visible discomfort that undoubtedly showed in his expression. 

San shook his head, moving his hand to stroke through Wooyoung’s hair, gently guiding his head against San’s shoulder. “I couldn’t care less about her. I’ll be imagining you, Wooyoung. The whole time.”

San began to sway on his feet as he moved his hand back down to Wooyoung’s back, and Wooyoung stumbled over his own feet, attempting to keep up with San’s movements. It clearly wasn’t what he was learning in his classes, nor was it how he would dance with the Princess at their ball. 

This was for them. 

Wooyoung swayed with him, fingers laced tightly together on one hand, San’s other hand secured tightly at the small of his back. He laid his head on San’s shoulder, taking in his scent as they moved back and forth on their heels. There was no music, but it didn’t matter. A silent symphony played in Wooyoung’s head, as if it were his and San’s own personal wedding day, their own personal ball, as if the world turned around only them. 

“The Princess…” Wooyoung started, voice growing quiet. “You… you haven’t kissed her yet, have you?”

Wooyoung braced for the pain in his heart when San inevitably responded with his worst nightmare. Of course he’d kissed her. He was going to marry her, after all, in only a few weeks. And after their wedding, they would inevitably consummate their marriage… 

Wooyoung felt like he was about to retch, a sickening nausea swelling in his stomach.

“I haven’t.”

Wooyoung breathed out a disbelieving, cynical chuckle. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“I’m not. I promise,” San reassured, rubbing circles against Wooyoung’s back through his shirt. “Truthfully, I’ve thought about it, but for no other reason than to placate my father. When I went to her kingdom, they even gave us the opportunity to sleep in the same bed. I was shocked. It was incredibly unorthodox, but I suppose it goes to show how desperate they are to foster some sort of connection between us. I think my father can see that I feel nothing for her.”

Wooyoung felt his chest tighten. “You don’t think he…?”

“Suspects anything between us?” San finished. “Certainly not. I think he believes I’m rebelling against the marriage by distancing myself from her. That’s why he’s pushing so hard. I like to think that, anyway.”

Wooyoung went quiet, unsure of what to say. He nuzzled his head further against San’s shoulder, pressing his nose against the soft skin of San’s neck. 

San started again. “I know it’s inevitable, that I… that I have to kiss her. That we may have to do more.” 

Wooyoung’s heart burned as if it were on fire, twisting painfully in his chest. “San, I don’t want to… I don’t want to think about…”

“But my heart will never be with her. It’ll always be with you.”

“What’s going to happen to us? When you’re married, will you still…?”

“I don’t know. Truthfully, I don’t know.”

Wooyoung’s heart dropped through his stomach, shattering as it fell to the floor. He tensed his fingers against San’s where they laced together, the descent of twilight outside the window mocking his plight, mocking him for being a peasant, a servant, a slave to the palace. San gripped him tightly, and Wooyoung could tell he didn’t want to let go. 

They could no longer afford to ignore reality—San was getting married in less than two months, and their fate together was still unknown.

Perhaps if he were a woman, perhaps if he were a Princess, perhaps in another life, he and San could have had their own fairy tale ending. 

"Stay with me until dusk," Wooyoung said finally, voice coming out more desperately than he intended. "Even if your guards come up, just... stay with me until you absolutely have to go."

San nodded, turning his head to pressing a slow kiss against Wooyoung's forehead, still nuzzled against San's neck as they swayed gently in the warm oil-lamp glow. "Of course."


	8. viii

**11th of february**

  
  
  


“Darling,” San breathed, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s waist as he swept beside Twilight’s stall door. 

“I’m trying to work,” Wooyoung protested in a teasing whine, lips curling into a soft smile. He didn’t mean it, not in the slightest.

San always liked distracting him while he was working—planting mind-melting kisses down his neck, pulling him in for warm hugs, or, like now, pressing into him from behind, wrapping his forearms around his waist and whispering into his ear. 

“Sorry,” San chuckled, though Wooyoung also knew he didn’t mean it at all. 

Wooyoung’s smile shifted downwards, a sudden pain aching in his chest, heart twisting as a certain sadness befell him. 

Recently, it had hit him at the strangest moments—the inevitable approach of San’s wedding encroaching faster than Wooyoung could keep up with.

“Come lay with me,” San whispered against the shell of his ear, lips brushing against it. “I miss you.”

“You’ve been following me around all day, San. Like a lost puppy. Kind of like Aurora,” Wooyoung joked, discarding his broom to the side and letting it topple to the floor. 

San’s fingers tensed at Wooyoung’s waist, and Wooyoung practically melted in his touch. “Please, baby. I think there's a warm quilt with our name on it.”

“Okay,” Wooyoung sighed with mock reluctance. “But you’re helping me finish my chores later.”

Wooyoung turned to him, a tinge of sadness swelling inside him as San tugged him towards the hay. He wasn’t sure what San’s wedding meant for their future, but he couldn’t help but think moments like this—blissful, domestic—would become less frequent. 

  
  
  


**18th of february**

  
  
  


“San, I’ve been thinking about something…” 

Wooyoung traced his fingers across San’s chest, riding shirt unbuttoned to expose his richly tanned skin, smooth and free of scuffs and marks. They were wrapped in the quilt, Wooyoung draped across San’s chest. The air was brisk, but their hay bed was warm as they laid together and kissed, body heat radiating against each other’s. San looked devastating—fluttering lashes on relaxed, hooded eyes, supple lips flushed red and slightly swollen from kissing, cheeks dusted with a deep pink in the cold winter air.

San tilted his head slightly, noting the conflict in Wooyoung’s eyes. “What is it?”

“I wanted to ask if you could find something out for me. If you can’t… that’s fine. But… I’m sure you have connections…”

“I probably can, but you have to tell me what it is first.”

“It’s about my work here… it’s about my father. You know why I’m here, right?”

San shook his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Not exactly. My father only told me he hired me a stablehand. He didn’t tell me why.”

Wooyoung had been avoiding the topic with San since his arrival. Frankly, he was ashamed at his family’s debt, ashamed at his unwilling servitude. San certainly knew the stable wasn’t his first choice of a job, but he hadn’t told him he was indentured to the palace—half because he didn’t want to talk about it, and half because he hardly knew anything about the circumstances of his servitude to begin with. He knew his father had screwed up his job and somehow landed himself in debt, selling his only eligible son into slavery, but past that, he wasn’t sure exactly what happened.

Wooyoung exhaled with a deep sigh. “My father was a servant of the King. Managed his deliveries, I think. He was away most of the time, since he lived in the servant’s quarters, so I didn’t see him much.”

San nodded, urging Wooyoung to continue.

“In late June last year, he came home and had a conversation with my mother… I overheard them talking about how my father had made some sort of huge mistake, gotten himself into trouble with the King. The next thing I knew, a group of guards whisked me away to the palace, telling me I’d be working here until my family’s debt was paid. I don’t know how big the debt is, but with the King’s reputation… well, I could only assume I’d be working here the rest of my life.”

San’s eyes went wide, expression faltering. “Wooyoung, I—I didn’t know. I assumed all of the palace’s servants were willing…”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I just wanted to know if you could get any information about what my father did. What his debt is.” 

“Of course. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks,” Wooyoung breathed, leaning forward to place an appreciative kiss on San’s lips.

  
  
  


**25th of february**

  
  
  


“I’m sorry I’m late.”

Wooyoung glanced up, eyes lighting up as he rested his gaze on San, a wide smile settling on his features. “San… I thought you weren’t coming again.”

Wooyoung’s smile faltered as San walked towards him, his gait betraying apprehension. Wooyoung rested his pitchfork gently against one of the stall doors, eyebrows pinching together nervously. “What’s… wrong? Did you get the information about my father?”

“I did,” San said, his tone so uneasy that Wooyoung began to question whether he should have asked. 

“And…?”

“Well, I couldn’t ask my father directly, but I asked one of his advisors, and apparently your father… dropped a crate of wine during one of his deliveries.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, cracking a disbelieving smile. “A _crate of wine_? You’re… you’re jesting, right?”

San did not return his smile. Wooyoung’s face fell.

“It was an expensive crate… _very_ expensive. According to the advisor, my father threatened him with a public execution…" San's gaze dropped as he watched Wooyoung's face twist into one of anger, disgust. "...but your father pleaded his life in exchange for the servitude of his son. The only reason mine accepted his plea was because he needed a stablehand in light of my impending marriage…" 

Rage festered in Wooyoung's chest, burning his cheeks red hot.

"Are you trying to tell me I'm indentured here, possibly for life, because of a fucking crate of _wine_? Because the King— _your_ father—would have had mine executed if not for the good graces of his unwitting son?” Wooyoung scoffed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know. I can’t control what my father does…”

Wooyoung collapsed his back against the stall, the wooden door creaking on its hinges on impact. He felt dizzy, nauseated, and most importantly, infuriated. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. You’re all the fucking same. You have _no idea_ what it’s like to be me. You’re so out of touch with the people of your kingdom, you had no idea we were even in a famine. You couldn’t even tell I was wasting away until I fainted at your feet.”

San’s expression fell further, eyes sparkling dismally. “I—I’m sorry.”

All his pent-up frustration boiled over—frustration at his servitude, at his endless and unforgiving plight. “You just get to come here, live your perfect little fantasy with me, and then get whisked back off to the palace to be waited on hand and foot. You have _no_ fucking clue what it’s like to be stuck here. So, what, do you know how much the debt is? How long I’ll be working here?"

San visibly hesitated, lips parting only to close again.

“Tell me.”

“...For life.”

“I fucking knew it,” Wooyoung spat, banging a fist against the empty stall door, and Treasure startled in the stall neck to him. His eyes welled with the beginnings of tears, uncomfortable pressure stinging at his cheeks. They weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of frustration—frustration at how alone he was, frustration at how unfair his life had become. 

San took a step forward towards Wooyoung, opening his arms slowly to offer a hug. “Wooyoung, please, I’m—”

Wooyoung shoved his forearm away. “Don’t.”

“I swear, I never had any say in this. If I did, I would have—”

“ _You_ never had any say in this? _I_ never had any fucking say in this! You don’t have any real issues. You’re the fucking Prince! The biggest problem in your life is that you have to marry a Princess. God, you’re so unaware of your privilege, aren’t you? You live in a palace, I sleep on hay bales in the freezing cold winter! When my father drops a crate of wine, I become indentured to the palace for life. When _your_ father causes a famine and starves his people to death, you still get to sleep in a cushy four-post bed and get treated to feasts! Do you not see how different we are?” 

San extended his arms again, a desperate look of anguish spreading across his face. “Wooyoung, please, just come here, please—”

Wooyoung shoved San away again, sending him stumbling backwards. “I said don’t touch me.”

“They’re sending me away, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung froze, anger slipping away in place of shock for just a moment. “What?”

San’s voice cracked as he spoke, small pools of tears welling visibly at the corners of his eyes. “They’re sending me away to the Princess’ kingdom the second I’m married. Transferring my horses to their stables… I just learned today, before I came, it’s why I was late. I was arguing with my father, but—”

Wooyoung puffed out a humorless scoff, ignoring the slight uncomfortable ache in his chest at the weight of San’s words. “This was a mistake anyway. All of this. We’d both be hanged if they found out.”

Wooyoung wasn’t sure if it was possible, but San’s expression fell further, true despair settling across his features. “Wooyoung…”

“Actually, I take that back,” Wooyoung spat, dripping poison off his tongue with every word. “ _I_ would be hanged. _You_ would be just fine. They’d probably give you a slap on the wrist before sending you away to your comfy bed. You are the Prince, after all.”

San’s voice went quiet, a cracking whisper with a dismal timbre. “I can’t—Wooyoung, I can’t lose you—”

“You can’t lose me? What, lose me and go back to your lavish life of royalty? What do you think _I_ have left when you go? Nothing. Fucking nothing, San. You wouldn’t know a _thing_ about what that’s like," Wooyoung snapped, though his voice faltered slightly as he considered his words. “You know what, it's good that you’re getting shipped off. Maybe then I’ll get reassigned and not have to work this piss-poor job.”

San went quiet, staring at Wooyoung with a wide, broken gaze, every last bit of light shattering from his eyes. 

“Just go,” Wooyoung said finally, dark and grating. “Go.”

He didn’t mean it. Fuck, he didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t stand to look at San now. He needed to calm down, needed to sleep, needed to think without anger clouding his thoughts. He’d break into pieces if San came near him, shatter if he had to keep looking at his tearful eyes.

San turned on his heels quietly, not even looking back as he walked away. 

Wooyoung knew it was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake the minute San slipped back through the stable doors, the sky growing dim as the sun began to set on the horizon. But he also knew it wasn’t worth it to go after him. This wasn’t the kind of mistake he could fix between sunset and duskfall. In fact, he would probably only make it worse.

His legs felt weak, heart lurching in his chest suddenly as if everything hit him all at once, an unrelenting sadness flooding his limbs. His knees gave out beneath him, sending him collapsing to the ground. He felt heavy, as if his body was made of rocks, burning tears welling in his eyes and spilling over as he leaned over, forming a pathetic ball as he sobbed against the stable floor. 

  
  
  


**4th of march**

  
  
  


San would surely return. 

San would return, and they could talk through it. Wooyoung would tell him he didn’t mean what he said, that he was just mad, just caught up in the moment. 

Perhaps their relationship was unmendable, with San leaving forever to the Princess’ kingdom in a matter of weeks, but he at least wanted to see San one last time before he left. He missed him more than anything, a gaping void replacing where his heart had been, once full of so much love and—

_Love._

Wooyoung loved him. 

Wooyoung had never gotten to tell San he loved him. 

He didn’t get the chance, today, either. 

  
  
  


**18th of march**

  
  
  


Wooyoung had planned their final reunion down to the last minute. Every detail, every word. He planned how he would run to San, collapse into his open arms, press himself into San’s chest and nuzzle tight against him. 

He had nothing better to do, after all.

He would stay there, locked in San’s embrace, inhaling his intoxicating scent until it was all he could smell. He’d grab his face, caressing his cheeks and drawing him into a deep kiss, keeping his lips pressed against San’s until he dared to pull away for air. Wooyoung would kiss every inch of him he could reach, pressing unspoken love against his skin with his lips, apologies he couldn't muster through his tears. 

He’d tell San how sorry he was, and he’d hope and he’d pray that San would forgive him enough to flash one of those smiles that made Wooyoung feel safe, those sunshine smiles with the dimples, those smiles that crinkled his eyes into happy crescents. 

And he’d tell San he loved him. 

He’d tell San he’d always love him, no matter how far apart they were. 

San would come to say goodbye. Of course he would. Of course. 

Dawn broke.

Noon rose. 

Evening came.

Sunset descended.

Twilight passed.

Dusk fell. 

Wooyoung sipped his ale, nausea churning in his stomach. He had half a mind to continue on in denial, to cling to some shred of hope he might sneak out again. But he hadn’t even come during the daylight, hadn’t even come when he was allowed. He certainly wouldn’t risk being caught just to say goodbye to someone he wouldn’t even see when he had the opportunity. 

It took several hours, probably, of drowning ale and picking unenthusiastically at his loaf of bread for Wooyoung to come to terms with his fate.

San wasn’t coming. He would never come. He would be married in a matter of days, whisked away to the other kingdom, never to be heard from again. 

San was the best thing that had ever happened to him and somehow also the worst, and the even worse part was that it never should have happened in the first place. The Prince shouldn’t have spoken to him in the to begin with—members of the royal family rarely acknowledged their servants as anything other than fodder, something less-than-human.

San talking to him should have never happened. San befriending him should have never happened. 

San kissing him should have never happened. 

But it did, and Wooyoung ruined it, irrevocably and beyond hope. 

San’s quilt draped around Wooyoung’s shoulders, falling limply at his sides and splaying out across the hay. Wooyoung wrapped himself in the warmth, imagining San’s arms curled around him, holding him in a comfortable embrace, pressing kisses against his forehead and whispering against his ear.

He inhaled as he wrapped the quilt across his face, taking in the scent, but it had all but faded away, unable to smell the last traces he had left of San.

A sob of final realization wracked through Wooyoung’s body, tears he’d shoved deep down erupting and spilling down his cheeks, soaking the quilt as he wept. He clung to the fabric as though it were San himself, as though somehow, if he just squeezed tighter, he would see his smiling face one more time.

He wouldn’t.

San’s wedding was in three days, and Wooyoung would never see him again. 


	9. ix

**20th of march**

  
  
  


Wooyoung had accepted his fate—though _acceptance_ may have been a strong word for the vast, unforgiving emptiness he felt as he searched inside him for any traces of hope. He wasn’t sure if he was numbed from crying, or had just lost the ability to feel entirely.

The deep violet hue of dusk shaded the sky as he pulled the stable doors shut for the night, wondering if this may be his last dusk at the stables forever—his last night in the hay, his last night wrapped in San’s hand-sewn quilt. 

He wondered if when he was gone, when the stables were cleared and he was reassigned, if his entire experience at the stables would all feel like some sort of strange fever dream. He wondered if his memory of San’s face, like the memory of his scent, would fade over time until he could hardly even remember what his smile looked like. 

He wrapped the quilt around his body. The guards probably wouldn’t let him take it. In fact, he’d probably have to hide it by the time sunrise came around, stuff it into San’s tack room and leave it behind forever.

It was probably for the best. It would only serve as a reminder for everything he had lost. 

Wooyoung palmed at his hay bed as he sat, feeling a pang of something akin to nostalgia. It would get dark soon, and he would sleep, and it would all be over. 

Wooyoung’s heart froze in his chest as a creak sounded out across the stable, the large door cracking open. He scrambled upright.

_No._

They couldn’t be coming to take him yet. The Prince’s wedding wasn’t until tomorrow, they couldn’t be taking him yet. He wasn’t ready, he hadn’t said goodbye to Aurora—

“Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung’s heart lurched in his chest. He opened his mouth, but his words caught in his throat. He could see a figure silhouetted against the moonlit backdrop, one small oil lamp flickering near the back of the stables serving as the only source of light. 

The voice was unmistakable, but it was impossible.

Perhaps he was dreaming, perhaps—

“Wooyoung, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,” San’s voice called, meek and wavering. “I’m just here because I wanted to tell you…”

Wooyoung had planned this moment down to the last second, planned how he would run into San’s arms, but his body froze completely, unmoving, as if his limbs had been cast in stone.

“San—”

“Just let me—let me finish. Let me finish, and then you’ll never have to see me again, okay? I wanted to tell you… I’ve arranged to pay off your family’s debts.” 

“W-what?” Wooyoung stuttered, eyes widening as he struggled to process San’s words. 

“Your family’s debts, your servitude to the palace. It’s all paid. The minute I’m wed tomorrow, your debt is absolved. You’ll get to go home. You’ll get to see your family. I’m sorry for everything, Wooyoung.” San dropped his gaze, beginning to turn on his heels. “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me, so if you— _nng_ —”

San’s sentence was cut off by Wooyoung’s body crashing into him, flinging his arms around San’s shoulders and squeezing so tightly San let out a little squeak of breathlessness. Tears stung at Wooyoung’s cheeks and welled in the whites of his eyes as he buried his face in San’s shoulder. 

“San—” Wooyoung choked out, letting the tears stream down his cheeks and bead against his chin, soaking into the fabric of San’s blouse.

San hesitated, his hands lingering just above Wooyoung’s shoulder blades before finally settling them down around Wooyoung’s back, reciprocating Wooyoung’s tight embrace. “Wooyoung… I thought…”

“I’m so sorry,” Wooyoung whispered, voice straining against the tiny sobs that wracked through him. “I’m so, so sorry, San. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing,” San breathed, stroking a hand against the back of Wooyoung’s hair, and the sound of San’s voice soothing against his ear was enough to trigger another round of tears. “You have nothing to apologize for, darling.”

San swayed on his heels gently, rocking Wooyoung’s body back and forth as he held him, as if they were dancing again. San kept his palm pressed against Wooyoung’s head, and Wooyoung stayed there, nuzzled against San’s shoulder, taking in his comforting scent until the tears finally ceased.

“Why… why didn’t you come back to say goodbye?” Wooyoung asked, voice cracking as he choked back the rest of his tears. He pulled away until he could see San’s face again, searching for safety in San’s gaze.

“I thought you’d never want to see me again. I thought you hated me.”

Wooyoung shook his head. “No… no. I was just so—I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at my situation, I was mad at my life, I was mad at how unfair everything was. And I think... I think part of me thought it’d be easier to push you away… once you said you were leaving forever. It was like self-defense, I guess. San, I’m so sorry. I’d never hate you.”

“You don’t hate me?” San repeated, an emotion akin to shock glimmering in his eyes. 

“No, I—” Wooyoung’s voice caught in his throat. San stared down at him with devastatingly wide eyes, sad and happy at the same time. “I love you.” 

San’s ran his fingers along Wooyoung’s cheek, combing his fingers gently through the bangs that framed his face. He pressed a warm, deep kiss against Wooyoung’s lips, pulling away just enough for their lips to graze as he spoke. “I love you, too.”

Wooyoung didn’t care if it was the last time he’d see San, he just wanted to feel him again, taste the intoxicating sweetness of San’s lips against his own, lay tangled in his limbs beneath the quilt one final time. He tugged San towards the hay, stumbling over himself as San kept himself planted firmly on his heels. 

“W-wait—”

Wooyoung’s lips twisted into a frown. “What?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t expect you to actually want me to stay. I should bring the cavalry horse in, just in case. Is one of the back stalls clear?”

“The empty one on the geldings’ side should be clear,” Wooyoung said with a nod, a strange feeling washing over him as he talked to San so casually, as if nothing had happened between them at all, as if they hadn’t fought, as if San hadn’t disappeared for weeks, as if this wasn’t the last time he’d ever see him. 

Wooyoung was able to get a good look at San the moment he stepped away to grab the stolen cavalry house. He was dressed in a more casual blouse and trousers in lieu of his normal riding clothes. A large midnight-black cloak was tossed over his shoulders, obscuring most of his lean frame.

Wooyoung took a seat on the hay bale as San led the horse inside the stable, drawing the attention of all of San’s horses—namely Twilight, who stomped in protest of the new company as San guided him into the back right empty stall. He was remarkably quiet, despite what San had said before about cavalry horses, barely making a fuss when San locked the door behind him before sauntering towards Wooyoung’s position.

Wooyoung patted at the empty space next to him, expecting San to sit next to him, but he stood above Wooyoung with a warm smile. He reached up towards the small string that kept his cloak secured around his shoulders, giving a swift tug to the bow until it unraveled, then shrugged the cloak from his frame. 

“Did you dress up just for me?” Wooyoung teased, drawing his eyes up and down San’s casual button-up blouse, an adorable shade of robin's egg blue.

Red dusted San’s cheeks. “It’s my sleep shirt. I didn’t exactly have time to change.”

Wooyoung cracked a sly grin. “I’m disappointed this is what I miss out on when you leave back to the palace at night.”

San stroked the top of Wooyoung’s head softly before lifting his knee to the hay bale, swinging his other leg over until he was straddling Wooyoung’s legs with his. 

Wooyoung’s smile faded in favor of shock. “What’re you—”

“I missed you so much, darling,” San breathed, drawing Wooyoung in for a slow kiss. Heat blossomed up through Wooyoung’s cheeks as San sunk down fully on his lap. “I missed _this_.”

Wooyoung melted into the kiss, sighing as he pressed up against San’s chest. Wooyoung reciprocated against San as if each kiss would be his last—and they almost were. By the time the night drew to a close, they would say their final goodbyes. But Wooyoung couldn’t think about that, not with San’s hands exploring his waist, not with San mouthing kisses along his jaw, eliciting unbidden whines as he sucked gently at the sensitive skin.

San’s fingers pinched at the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt before slipping beneath, brushing his fingertips along Wooyoung’s hips. Wooyoung’s breath hitched in his chest at the way San escalated their kiss so desperately. 

“Eager,” Wooyoung chuckled through tiny moans as San nipped just below his jaw. 

“I don’t want to waste a single second,” San whispered, letting hot air bathe across Wooyoung’s neck. 

“Me neither.”

San’s fingers pushed further up Wooyoung’s torso, ghosting across his stomach and palming over his chest. His elbows tugged at the shirt as he explored across Wooyoung’s skin, and Wooyoung helped him by sliding the shirt over his head. San wasted no time pressing his lips back against Wooyoung’s neck, dragging his fingers down Wooyoung’s chest, kneading at the skin.

He arched his back slightly, letting out a whimper as San’s thumbs dragged across his nipples, which were hard and sensitive from the brisk spring air. San had touched him before, had allowed his hands to slip beneath Wooyoung’s shirt as they kissed—but never like this. There was something much more needy, more desperate the way his hands grasped tightly at his waist, nails digging in with gentle pressure.

And Wooyoung understood. Wooyoung wanted to feel every part of San before he was sent away forever, wanted to do everything he’d ever fantasized about as time seemed to slip from their grasp. 

Wooyoung returned San’s fervent touch with one of his own, fumbling at the buttons of San’s silky sleep shirt and slipping it down his shoulders until it drifted to the stable floors. San rolled his hips as Wooyoung steadied his hands at San’s waist, gripping tight as if to ground himself to reality with the way San’s cock ground against his through his trousers. 

He hadn’t expected the night to go this way—in fact, he hadn’t expected to ever get to touch San again, to ever feel his warmth or kiss his lips, and certainly not to feel their cocks brush together as San ground up against his lap, mouthing gentle kisses down his neck and swirling his thumbs around Wooyoung’s nipples until he was squirming.

He could feel San growing hard against him, and it took practically nothing for Wooyoung’s own cock to start aching as it had for months, every time San brushed against him or teased kisses down the back of his neck. 

He’d been dreaming about this moment forever.

And he still felt like he was dreaming as San began to slip off his lap, sinking to his knees, trousers digging into his discarded sleep shirt on the stable floors.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened as San glanced up with sparkling eyes and fluttering lashes, a devastating reminder of just how enchanting he was.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do,” San whispered, undoing the button of Wooyoung’s trousers and tugging at the waistband, bringing his linens with them as San pulled down. Wooyoung’s cock sprang out from beneath them, coming to rest in front of San’s face. He suddenly felt deeply self-conscious as San admired his length, a burning heat rising up into his cheeks. “I haven’t stopped thinking about this since we first kissed…”

“R-really?” Wooyoung stuttered, fingers twitching at his sides as he had the urge to cover his face and disappear with how close the Prince was to his hard cock. 

There was a keen glint in San’s eyes as he trained them upwards, shimmering in the low light of the oil lamp, which illuminated every curve of his face beautifully. “Can I?” 

“Please,” Wooyoung answered, a bit embarrassed at the eagerness that came through in his voice. 

San leaned in, giving an apprehensive lick to the tip at first as he cupped his hand around Wooyoung’s cock, which twitched in his grasp. Wooyoung couldn’t help but let a shaky whimper escape at the wetness of San’s tongue as it rolled across the head. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, lighting every inch of him on fire and sending heat tumbling through his core. 

It was pathetic, but he almost felt his release bubbling up right then and there when San swirled his tongue around the head with the slightest amount of pressure. 

“Does it feel good?” San breathed against him, letting an overwhelming amount of heat wash over Wooyoung’s cock. 

“I-incredible,” Wooyoung responded, punctuated with soft whines as San continued, wrapping his lips tightly around the tip and sliding down just barely, taking the top of Wooyoung’s length into his mouth.

Wooyoung grasped desperately for something to hold onto before he lost control of his body, settling his hands in San’s soft locks and combing through the strands, trying not to tug too hard. San’s head bobbed a few times, the hand grasping the base of his cock as he moved. 

The heat of San’s mouth was overwhelming, the wet walls of his cheeks suctioned tightly around him. Wooyoung writhed, louder moans and whines tumbling out from his lips. San sank down even farther, prompting Wooyoung to inhale sharply. 

He pulled his mouth upwards, then sank back down once more, twisting his hand around the base of his cock until Wooyoung was squirming, doing everything to keep his hips from rutting against San’s mouth. A high pitched whine slipped through Wooyoung’s lips, louder than he expected, and he felt San moan around his cock, sending mind-melting vibrations through his shaft.

“F-fuck,” he cursed under his breath, waves of building tension forming knots in his stomach that traveled downwards. San continued enthusiastically, spurred on by Wooyoung’s filthy praises. 

Fuck. He couldn’t hold on any longer, he couldn’t—

 _“Ah_ —San—” Wooyoung cried out, bucking his hips up involuntarily against the roof of San’s mouth. San let out a little gag before Wooyoung tugged at his hair, pulling him off just before the pressure in his core released. 

Come spilled out from the head, some landing against Wooyoung’s stomach, the rest dribbling down the shaft. San watched in lovestruck awe, as if he were admiring artwork, and not the immoral display in front of him.

“Why’d you pull me off?” San asked as he glanced up at Wooyoung, eyebrows pinched. His lips were puffy, eyes shimmering and watery at the edges, cheeks dusted in deep pink. He was stunning—a true Prince. 

“I—I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to… in your mouth.”

“I would have liked it.”

Embarrassed heat pooled in Wooyoung’s cheeks, and he again had the urge to cover his face with his hands, unable to bear the way San looked at his naked body with so much love in his eyes. 

San stood up, shedding his own trousers and undergarments and leaving them in a heap on the floor. Wooyoung barely had a moment to admire San’s body before he leaned over him, capturing Wooyoung in a deep kiss, leaning his body over him until Wooyoung fell backwards against the hay. San followed, tumbling onto his side atop the quilt. San’s naked body rubbed against his as Wooyoung flipped him into his back with a gentle nudge, allowing his chest to lean over San’s slightly as they laid.

“I want to touch you too,” Wooyoung admitted, ignoring the heavy blush that deepened on his cheeks. San only nodded in response, grasping for Wooyoung’s wrist to guide his hand towards his cock. 

It was his turn now—his turn to touch San, to truly feel him in the way he’d imagined for so long. Wooyoung curled his fingers around San’s shaft, hard and warm under his fingers. It was remarkably smooth, the soft skin pliant as he began to slide his hand up and down slowly. 

He glanced down just enough to admire how beautiful his cock was—well-sized, fitting perfectly in his hand, and just as pretty as he was. San’s body was truly befitting of a prince from head to toe.

San squirmed beneath him, letting out the softest, mind-melting whimpers as Wooyoung moved his hand, slowly working to pick up a rhythm. It was everything Wooyoung had ever dreamed about—touching San so intimately, hearing the bliss in his tone. 

Wooyoung threaded their fingers together with his free hand, mouthing gentle kisses down San’s neck as he stroked up and down his cock. The spring air was cool, but their bodies were remarkably hot, skin on fire with the fervor of their desperation, holding each other so close, a wanton dance of skin-on-skin. 

“ _Ah_ —it feels amazing, Wooyoung—” San breathed through shaky moans. “K-keep going, please—”

It didn’t take much to send San over the edge into the same pleasure he’d given Wooyoung, thick ribbons of come spilling over onto his stomach as Wooyoung stroked him through his release. He tensed as he came, letting out a deep moan that was quickly muffled by Wooyoung’s lips colliding with his, catching him in a sweet final kiss.

Wooyoung let go of San’s cock with a satisfied sigh, pulling away from his lips and collapsing at his side. They laid there for a while, a comfortable silence settling between them as they pressed against each other. Wooyoung rested his head in the crook of San’s neck, breaths coming out hot and shallow, an overwhelming heat blanketing his limbs. 

“That was… unbelievable,” Wooyoung whispered finally, still working to catch his breath.

He could feel San’s chin rub against the top of his head as he nodded. “You’re incredible, Wooyoung. You have no idea.”

Wooyoung paused for a moment, a thought he didn’t want to think about suddenly prodding at his mind, unrelenting. “Do you... will you have to go soon?”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble. If they notice you’ve disappeared before the night of your wedding…”

San went quiet, and Wooyoung could feel him swallow where his forehead rested against San’s neck. Wooyoung lifted his head, examining the unease blanketing his expression.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asked, a gentle sadness lilting in his tone. 

San dropped his gaze, tracing his fingers in absent circles across Wooyoung’s chest. “I’m sorry, I—there’s been something on my mind, and I can’t—I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter right now.”

Wooyound combed his fingers through San’s hair gently, tilting his head with concern. “No, tell me.” 

“It’s just—I’ve been thinking about this wedding. I know it’s tomorrow, but I keep having this dreadful feeling. It’s almost as though it’s not supposed to happen, or something.”

“I certainly wish it wasn’t happening,” Wooyoung breathed cynically. 

“You know, the only person who actually seems to want this wedding to happen is my father. Even the other kingdom doesn’t seem so enthusiastic about welcoming me to their palace, and ever since I’ve given the Princess the cold shoulder, she’s been quite unwelcoming to me, as well. Hell, even our _own_ kingdom doesn’t want this wedding to happen. And they’ve been quite vocal about it.”

“What do you mean?”

San exhaled a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I was supposed to find out, but I accidentally eavesdropped on one of my father’s conversation with his advisors. Apparently, there have been protests breaking out in the villages… protests against my marriage, and against the King for inciting the famine. Riots, the advisor called them. I’m sure that’s an exaggeration though. My father thinks any sort of criticism against his rule is a ‘riot’. I don’t know how long they’ve been going on, but I can only imagine my father has been keeping it from me, I suppose because he wants me to focus on preparing for the wedding. I just—I have a bad feeling about it.”

As much as Wooyoung cared for San, he was almost elated to hear of the protests—at least _someone_ was standing up to the King. Maybe he would have even joined in, had he not been isolated as a servant and stuck within the confines of the palace grounds.

“Surely your father can’t be happy about his subjects protesting,” Wooyoung said, shoving down his happiness in place of whatever shred of empathy he had left for the royal family, outside of San. 

“I’m sure he’s not. He’ll probably round them up and have them executed the second he’s done fussing over my marriage.”

Wooyoung went silent, a tense air forming between them. 

“Sorry,” San continued, dropping his gaze away again. “We shouldn’t be talking about this. Not when…” San’s voice trailed off with a heavy, burdened sigh. “I don’t want to spend my final moments with you complaining about my father.”

“Your marriage,” Wooyoung cut in. 

“We don’t have to—”

“Describe it to me. The venue.”

Confusion furrowed between San’s eyebrows. “Why?”

Wooyoung trailed his fingers across San’s chest in wistful circles. “I want to imagine what it would look like, if it were our wedding day instead.”

“Wooyoung…”

“Please. Just, for one moment, I want to imagine something more for us. I know we can’t live out our fairy tale ending but... we can live it right here. In our minds. Please.”

“Well, the chapel is absolutely stunning,” San started. “Stained glass, stone walls, rose petals decorating the aisle. You’d like it, I think. No—I know you would.”

“I’d like it even more once I saw you walking down the aisle. I’m sure you look positively ravishing in your suit.” Wooyoung flashed an enamored smile through the sadness that crept up through his chest as he imagined the scene play out in front of him, imagined San walking towards him in the cathedral, imagined the smile on his face, imagined the life they’d never have. 

“I’m sure you’d look even better in yours. Gold and emerald, like your ribbon,” San whispered, and Wooyoung could hear the slight crack in his voice, as if he were holding himself together by a single thread. “God, you’d look incredible.”

Wooyoung caught San’s palm in his, lacing their fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze. He felt tears of his own welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. He choked them back as he spoke, but he could feel the cracks forming at the edges. “And after the wedding?”

“The Ball, of course. Fuck, Wooyoung, it’s beautiful,” San gave a strained smile, but Wooyoung could see the glimmer of a single tear slip down his cheek. “Golden arches, crystal chandeliers. You’d look so dazzling beneath the light. I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off you.”

Fuck. Wooyoung didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to break down in front of San. Crying wouldn’t make their time together last any longer. Crying wouldn’t do anything but make San’s departure more difficult, and yet his voice trembled with the saddest timbre as he choked out his words. 

“And we’d dance?”

San gave a gentle nod, squeezing his eyes tight to let the tears bead away, falling across his richly tanned skin. “We’d dance. You’d be better than me, once you learned the steps. You’d completely show me up.”

Wooyoung squeezed tighter, rubbing gentle circles around the back of San’s palms. He couldn’t imagine ever letting go. A tear escaped, and he blinked it away, letting it roll down his cheek.

“I’d rest my head against your shoulder as we danced. It wouldn’t matter who was watching. I’d probably forget the steps, anyway. It’d just be you and me.”

“You and me,” San repeated, unable to conceal the way he broke, voice shattering in his throat and eyes spilling over with tears. “It’d be the best day of my life.”

“And after the ball, of course, we’d—” 

Wooyoung cut himself off as he heard something from far away outside, the sound of voices coming up along the path from the arena, distant and quiet, but undoubtedly _voices._

Wooyoung lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, heart suddenly jumping in his chest, a wave of panic washing over him. “Fuck… do you hear that?” 

San jolted upwards, scrambling for his clothes as the footsteps drew nearer, shaking his head and swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hands to clear away the tears. He draped the cloak over his shoulders as soon as he’d gotten his clothes back on his frame, and Wooyoung followed suit, fumbling for his dirtied uniform on the stable floor and slipping his clothes back on as quickly as possible.

“You don’t think your guards—?”

They both went dead silent as the footsteps drew nearer, freezing in place, unsure of what to do if the guards burst through the door. Wooyoung supposed they could try to hide San in the tack room, but they’d undoubtedly see the cavalry horse tied up in the—

Angry voices rang out from all sides of the stables, footsteps thundering across the ground outside accompanied by a cacophony of yelling voices. 

“San, who—”

“Stay quiet,” he shushed, keeping his voice at a whisper. “Those aren’t my guards.”

Wooyoung eyes widened at the implications as the thumping footsteps seemed to retreat, voices fading into the night. 

“San, what the hell is going on—” Wooyoung hissed, trying to keep his voice low, but he turned around on his heels as he heard a crackling sound from behind him. “Fuck, San—San! They set it on fire! Fire!”

Wooyoung’s heart fell from his chest as he saw the first ember erupt into a flame near the back of the barn, climbing up the walls as the fire slowly devoured the wooden stable wall. Wooyoung whipped back around, and San’s gaze met his, returning his panicked expression with a look of mutual realization. 

“Unlock the stalls!” San shouted, barking commands in a stern voice Wooyoung had never heard before. “You get the geldings, I’ll take the mares!”

San ran towards Lulu’s stable first, unlatching the stalls frantically as Wooyoung kicked the stables doors open fully, then worked on the gelding’s stalls. Smoke gathered in a miasmic cloud, permeating through Wooyoung’s lungs as they burned. A thick heat formed in the air, flames licking up the walls, spreading across the roof in a dangerous mixture of bright yellow melding into orange and crimson as the stable burned. 

San stood at Aurora’s stall, attempting to coax her out as the flames devoured everything around them. A sudden look of realization donned over his features, and he turned to bark out an order in Wooyoung's direction, eyes betraying utter despair. “Wooyoung! The cavalry horse!”

Shit. He forgot about the empty stalls. He sprinted over to the back of the barn, unlatching the extra stall. The white beast reared up before clambering out frantically, a mess of hooves and angry cries as he took off out the door, following the rest of San’s horses—except Aurora, who refused to budge from her stall. 

“Aurora, please—” San pleaded with her, doing everything he could to get her to move as she let out a fearful whinny and kicked at the stall walls, flames enveloping around them. 

Wooyoung ran towards them to help, but stumbled backwards as an enormous beam crashed to the stable floor inches from his face, blocking his path. He was trapped, unable to reach the entrance, where San stood, screaming for Aurora to leave her stall. Wooyoung whipped his head around, gaze connecting with the large stack of hay bales behind him, which would inevitably go up in flames in a matter of moments. He’d die if he didn’t find another way out. 

The window.

His brain worked enough through his pumping adrenaline to register that there was a small open window in the spare stall they housed the cavalry horse in, wide enough for him to jump through, but he risked catching his clothes on fire on the way through. 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a choice—he’d suffocate before he had a chance to consider the risks further.

He stumbled into the stall, stepping up on a pile of hay in the corner to hoist himself out of the window. Flames licked the walls around him, and he braced himself as he threw himself out with little regard for his own safety, tumbling to the ground outside with a harsh thump.

He glanced around, giving his own body a once-over with only enough attention to know he wasn’t actively on fire. 

_San._

Wooyoung hoisted himself to his feet, knees nearly buckling as he sprinted around to the stable doors. 

The first thing he saw was San, still screaming as Aurora thrashed in her stall, refusing to move a muscle—the second thing was the fire, which had nearly doubled in intensity in the time it took him to throw himself through the window and make it back to the front of the barn. His heart lurched in his chest as he watched the roof erupted into flames, wood rotting away at the edges and threatening to collapse on top of him.

“San!” Wooyoung screamed, voice croaking and breaking as he strained his voice up. “You need to go, now!”

“I can’t leave Aurora,” San cried, desperately trying to coax her from her stall, but she only reared and tossed her head in protest. He spat out coughs as the smoke swirled around him, inhaling it as he cried. 

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered between San and the roof, flaming beams teetering downwards, ready to topple at any moment. 

He grabbed San by both forearms, tugging back as hard as he could as San writhed and cried in his grip. “I’m sorry, San—we have to go—now!”

San screamed Aurora’s name as Wooyoung dragged him out, thrashing against his hold. Aurora followed as soon as he cleared the doorway, crashing against the open stall as she ran free through the door. 

Of course—she wasn’t going to leave without San.

They didn’t have time to dwell on it as the roof caved in, blazing beams of wood slammed to the ground.

Wooyoung clutched San’s hand tightly as they took off, nearly tripping over their frantic footfalls as they descended the slope. Aurora followed in frenzied zig-zags, spinning frantically around them as they sprinted across the field, past the mare’s pastures and towards the woods, finally collapsing once they were far enough away to no longer be in immediate danger of the flames, though they danced threateningly along the hill, consuming everything in their path with merciless heat. 

Coughs wracked through their bodies from the smoke they inhaled, doubling over as they choked. Wooyoung’s lungs felt as though they were on fire, chest swelling with a painful sting. The normally cool spring air grew stiff and balmy with the heat of the flames spitting thick tendrils of smoke into the sky around them. 

San wailed as he collapsed to the ground, staring at the destruction with both despair and disbelief. Wooyoung could hardly tear his eyes away from the sight—it was horrific, blood-curdling as he watched San’s only home go up in flames. Pillars of smoke billowed from the palace on the horizon, flames erupting from the palace and licking at the midnight sky, blanketing it in thick ash.

The fields between the palace and the stables danced with fire as well, singeing the grass as it made a trail towards the stables, an inferno devouring the structure Wooyoung had called his home, eating away at the wood as the structure toppled into a flaming heap of lumber and ash. Horses trilled in anguish, panicked whinnies and the sound of frienzied hooves clomping in the distance, scattering into the forest. 

Aurora pranced an anxious circle around them, hysteric yet loyal, refusing to leave San's side where he curled up in the grass. 

Wooyoung kneeled beside him, attempting to soothe his anguished cries as San watched the fields burn, the place he'd called his home his whole life.

San sobbed, coming out as a despairing scream into the ash-coated sky. "My home, my stables, my horses—god, my _horses_ —everything… It’s all gone, it’s all—"

Wooyoung curled around him, wrapping his arms tightly around San's form in an attempt to comfort his hopeless cries. 

"Baby, baby, hey…" Wooyoung soothed, cupping his palm against San's cheek and lifting San's eyeline up to him. His face was coated with a thin layer of ash, tufts of hair burnt off and singed at the edges, no semblance of royalty left on his usually pristine features. 

San shook his head violently, tears swelling in his eyes and crashing down, smudging ash down his cheeks. San crashed into him, clinging to him with arms draped limply around his shoulders. “I can’t lose you, too, Wooyoung. I can’t lose you, I can’t. You’re all I have left. I can’t lose you too—”

Wooyoung squeezed San tightly, shooting a glance behind him at the flames slowly encroaching down the hill, blazing through the grass towards them.

“Shh. San—San! Look at me. We need to go. We need to go now.”

San looked around frantically over Wooyoung’s shoulder as if searching for something, still gripping Wooyoung like he might go up in flames, too, if San let go. “My horses—I can’t leave them...”

“We have to go _now_ , San! Listen to me.” 

San stared at him with wide, expectant eyes, complete despair painting his expression. Wooyoung’s heart shattered, but he didn’t have time to dwell on anything as the flames licked across the pastures towards him. 

“We run away. We get on Aurora and we run, as far as we can go.”

“Wooyoung—”

“They’ll think we’re dead. No one cares about me, about the stablehand, but you—we need to go before they have time to look for you. The stables burned, the palace is burning… if they can’t find you, they’ll think you’re dead. But we have to go now before they find us.”

San hesitated for only a moment, voice catching in his throat before he mustered a nod. “Okay. Y-you’re right. Then we go.”

San pressed into Wooyoung with a desperate kiss. Aurora stomped behind them, letting out a wild trill as the flames drew closer. He looked up to Aurora, no longer afraid of the beast as she reared and bucked in the field, unwilling to leave San’s side. As long as he was beside San, he wouldn’t be afraid anymore. 

It didn’t matter how far they’d have to run. 

It didn’t matter how hard it’d be to hide.

It didn’t matter if they’d have to start over with nothing. 

Wooyoung gave a resolute nod, pushing himself to his feet and extending his hand to help San up.

“Then we go,” he repeated, and he’d never been more sure of something his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it, the epic finale! there's still an short epilogue that will come sometime after this, but as for the main story, it's complete :')
> 
> so, did it end how you expected? thanks for everyone who came along for this fluffy, angsty, horse-filled adventure <3


	10. epilogue

**late july**

  
  
  
  


Wooyoung was used to waking up in the hay. 

He palmed at the quilt beneath him as he blinked his eyelids open, noting the familiar hard surface of the hay bale beneath his fingertips, strands crunching as he stretched his limbs. The stable was warm with the dewy July air, the warm glow of dawn kissing his skin through the stable windows. He noted the empty space next to him where the warmth of another body should have been. 

“Ah, you’re up.”

San stood at the stable’s entrance, stroking gently down Aurora’s nose. His hair formed a ruffled, sleep-tousled mess, strands falling around his eyes and growing quite long in the back. He gave a warm smile, dimples creasing in his cheeks. A bit of dirt smudged across his tanned skin, which looked radiant in the orange sunlight. 

“Sugyeong brought fresh eggs from the hens this morning. You must have been quite tired.” 

“You’re the one who kept me up late last night,” Wooyoung teased, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he roused from their hay bed. San’s warm smile twisted into a cheeky smirk, shrugging his shoulders in feigned remorse. 

“Perhaps you can help me finish the chores early, then we can go for a ride?” San suggested, changing the subject, though the satisfied grin still pulled at the edges of his lips. “I was hoping to take one of Sugyeong’s horses out on the trails today. Their training is coming along nicely. You can take Aurora if you want.”

“I thought you told Sugyeong you’d give her granddaughter a lesson today?”

“She’ll be by in the evening. We still have plenty of time until then.”

Wooyoung pushed himself to his feet. His legs ached slightly beneath him, thanks to him and San’s romp in the hay the night before. He made his way towards San, draping his arms around San’s shoulders and pressing his face against his chest. He still smelled like San, the prince he once was, but he also smelled like fresh grass and summer sweat, like hay and horse fur. 

Wooyoung swayed lightly on his heels, remembering the way he and San had danced in the lamplight in a stable far nicer than this one, in a kingdom far away, many long winters ago. 

Here, San wasn’t a prince, and Wooyoung wasn’t his servant. Here, he and San just _were._

Sugyeong never asked questions, never asked who they were or why they were traveling alone with a horse as beautiful and expensive as Aurora, never asked why they needed a place to stay. She simply accepted them as if they were her own children, allowing him and San to stay in her stables in exchange for taking care of her horses—and giving her grandchildren free riding lessons, of course. San was more than happy to oblige with her terms. 

“What is it, darling?” San whispered as Wooyoung clung to him, pressing sleepy kisses against the crook of his neck.

Wooyoung smiled against him. “Nothing, I’m just happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have twt and curiouscat for questions/interacting w me so if you want you can follow me on either @ yunsannies <3 thanks for reading!
> 
> oh, and I have an [official playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7yBYsZV1oE7QRIaYRPubZG?si=c2rdXkI1TSyeEk5RhXFzPg) for this fic!


End file.
